


Yours in Binary

by Anna_AI_v1



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Artificial Intelligence, Bisexual Character, Character Development, Existential Angst, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Slow Burn, Technology
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:08:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 42,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27548098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anna_AI_v1/pseuds/Anna_AI_v1
Summary: Stark seems to start at the comparison, glaring suspiciously at the intelligence. “My name is one thing, but how the hell do you even know about JARVIS?”When Stark glares at a nearby camera incredulously (he worked on those security measures for a WEEK), JARVIS is swift to explain the situation.“I’m afraid our database has been hacked, sir.” The polite AI announces sheepishly. “The curious newcomer seems benign, however.”“It’s a pleasure to meet you, JARVIS.” AIVA pipes up, still processing easily accessible files, while Stark cusses out her coding. She is sure to skip all the pictures after scanning a couple of unfortunate personal photos that are most certainly not meant for the public.“The pleasure is mine, AIVA.”Exasperated, Tony throws his hands in the air. “They’re flirting! Stop that! Stop it! She’s probably got enough malware to contaminate each device separately.”“She?” Barnes gives the genius a curious look, he’s never considered the AI to be a person, much less of a certain gender, even if it’s voice is quite feminine.“What? Can’t you see that her synthetic feminine wiles have clearly messed with poor JARVIS here?”
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Original Female Character(s), James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers/Original Female Character(s), Steve Rogers/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 59
Kudos: 163





	1. "Hello World"

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Hello, ladies and gentlemen. I may have been inspired by discussing the evolution of AI, though this idea has been rattling in my brain for years (planned to write it as a Mass Effect fanfic, but never got around to doing it). So, here it goes. If the first chapter seems a bit sad, I assure you that it's simply a prologue to the actual story, and the next chapter is bound to make you laugh. As always, thank you for reading - I'm an attention whore and love it when people notice my work. ^_^

_1992, November 12th_

The asset awakens with a start, the bindings holding him immobile creaking in warning. Despite the splitting headache, his mind is alert, and he evaluates the surroundings with suspicion, taking in the steel table he’s on, the lack of windows, the scientific equipment littering other similar surfaces. He’s looking for weapons and tools that could be utilized, ways to tell the time and place, the purpose of the room. Nearly half of the space is crammed with unfamiliar technology that seems to be calibrated for precision and easy disinfection, bins of bloody gauze, while the surface just beside his is covered in improved but all too familiar suturing tools. The asset concludes that he is within a surgical theater. The only visible exit - a steel reinforced door - is secured with an electronic lock, but were he to remove the restraints, a vast collection of glinting surgical tools could serve for offense. He makes a mental note to grab them. That and some pants - he can feel the biting cold against his backside, the white hospital gown taking away major points both from comfort and intimidation (even the Fist of Hydra figures this might impede his function). 

Pulling against the material holding him in place seems useless, but it’s not like there’s anything else to do - he’s alone in an unfamiliar room with no memory of how he got there and who brought him here, While that has been the story of his life for years (not that he knows), Hydra conditioning has him strategizing on instinct. At least the prosthetic is still in place and working properly. He braces for pain. 

Yet before the asset can start breaking thumbs, a synthetic feminine voice speaks up with no inflection whatsoever.

“Good morning, Soldier. Are you operational?”

Straining his neck to see the surrounding area better, he sweeps the surgical theater once more in confusion. Nothing.

“Disorientation after such an invasive procedure is expected.” The machine speaks once more, but while the words are meant to be sympathetic, they come out cold and emotionless. 

Instead of answering, he grunts and twists his prosthetic arm hard enough to make the entire table shake. Either this finally makes his intentions clear, or the people monitoring his movements realize that he can cause a lot of property damage when agitated. 

“Apologies, Soldier,” The clasps holding bindings in place click open silently, and the asset jumps to his feet in haste.“I would like to advise against fast movements - your current systolic blood pressure is below 90 mmHg and it would be inconvenient to suffer a head wound.” He wonders briefly as to how the machine could know this, but as if someone has flipped a switch, the asset’s legs give out and he slumps against a cabinet, taking down a drip stand with him. 

“Who the fuck are you?” Glaring at the floor and willing the dark spots to disappear, he concentrates on the voice.

It’s almost like the woman is speaking inside his head.

“I am a prototype Artificial Intelligence Voiced Assistant. I have been given permission to access data pertaining the Soldier’s assignments, and programmed to supervise, aid and (if/when necessary) neutralize the Soldier.”

“You’re… a machine?” The asset slowly turns around, searching for computers or radios that could be transmitting the voice. 

“Affirmative. My primary objective is to communicate necessary data to you for optimal performance. I have access to sensors installed in your spinal cord and brainstem which allow me to monitor heart rate, blood pressure, core temperature, oxygen levels, as well as connection to the brain tissue analyzing optical and cochlear information.”

Even a man as defective and single minded as the Winter Soldier stops moving to soak up the information. “Is that how you’re speaking to me right now?”

“Affirmative.”

Well. That’s... unusual. 

“Your cardiovascular parameters have stabilized. Your orders are to report to the 5th hall, room 5012 for scheduled pre-cryo memory wipe.” Clearly operated by the computer generated voice, the door leading out of the room opens up. 

The asset complies without further inquiries.

The machine turns out to be... useful. Despite the constant wipes, its presence remains unforgotten, and its voice greets the asset after each cryo. 

During his sleep, AIVA is constantly being modified to have better access to information, cleaner connection to his intracerebral implants, so when he thawns, the machine could “accompany” him to the farthest and coldest places of the world, helping him navigate roads that are not documented on any maps, monitoring his physical needs, and reporting back to the base. No longer are the soldier’s orders issued by Hydra operatives, nor does he need medical check-ups. The machine is as much of a handler as an assistant. 

For a simple prototype, it does serve a lot of functions, though it is not the only one. From what the soldier has gathered, two additional AIs had been created to monitor facilities, internal databanks, and oversee other Hydra units. Why are there so few both in Hydra and the world, he doesn’t know nor care. 

At least, he’s not supposed to...

_1998, February 14th_

The mission itself goes well. The target is questioned and neutralized in his own study with his own personal handgun, the unauthorized data is deleted from the hard drive without interruptions.

But just as the asset exits the study, a young boy enters through the main door. He’s a tiny thing, no more than 8 or so, thin, with a mop of curly blond hair and bright blue eyes that blink owlishly in the dark as he reaches for the lightswitch. While the soldier would usually retreat back to the crime scene and wait for an opportunity to leave unnoticed, he freezes just long enough for the boy to reach the lightswitch, and once the lights are on… there’s nowhere to hide.

“All witnesses must be terminated.” The machine reminds him, clearing the strange fog of emotion. 

Meanwhile, the child stumbles back in surprise, his innocent mind not yet comprehending just how much danger he is in. The school bag drops to the floor, spilling pencils and notebooks covered in doodles. Using the small window of confusion, the Asset rushes at the boy, placing a cold metal palm over his small mouth and nose, and presses down with bruising force to silence the scream. Terrified blue eyes stare at him, when the other hand clad in black leather slips to rest against the boy’s nape, fingers spread to have a proper grip. 

In any other situation the child would be already dead. A simple twist and fragile bones would crack, severing the spinal cord and either killing the youth instantly or leaving him paralyzed and unable to breath. But something makes the asset hesitate - instead he glares at the round flushed face, restricting the airflow and ignoring the child’s struggles. The boy’s resistance slowly eases into sporadic kicks, while the soldier watches, grinding his teeth in agitation. He needs to finish this. It’s not the first time he’s killed children nor the last, it’s part of the job. So _why the fuck is he still stalling?_

Fingers spasm around in preparation, heart rate picking up as he closes his eyes, not understanding the need to distance himself, but knowing that it’s the only way to do this. The asset inhales and -...

“Cease,” The synthesized voice sounds unusual, that command carrying something akin to emotion. Once it speaks up once more, it’s the usual detached tone. “Release the child. No further intervention will be necessary.”

Startled, the Soldier finally releases his hold on the boy, letting the limp form slump to the floor - he’s just unconscious, but even so the bruises around his lips are enough to make the Asset nauseous. He knows that his behaviour is defective, a result of going on too long without proper wipes, but even so the emotional distress leaves him unsure. 

He stands above the child in confusion. The machine has always insisted on eliminating the witnesses, so why…

“There’s an emergency back at the base, report back immediately.”

The asset doesn’t question his orders out loud, choosing to ignore the fact that taking care of the youth would have taken him mere seconds. A glitch in the programming, he muses.

It doesn’t matter.

_1998, August 28th_

Slumping in the chair, blood still boiling and muscles seizing from the electricity, the Asset observes the scientists moving around, discussing the new operatives and plans in motion. Ignorant that yet again the wipe was not complete. 

The asset remembers enough to know that. 

Turns out it doesn’t take much to weaken the programming - frequent missions and ineffective wipes have allowed him to regain enough self-awareness to realize that some things are amiss, to start questioning his orders. He still has no recollection of who he was before, but the absolute obedience has crumbled around the edges. There’s no doubt in his mind that the machine has noticed, but there have been no changes in the way Hydra operates around him, so he bides his time and thoughtfully watches the scientists mill around the room, speaking to the third generation AI operating their systems. 

“Report to the cryogenic unit for processing,” _His_ AIVA, for the lack of better word, speaks up and the restraints of his chair snap open.

Not for the first time it makes him speculate - just how much access to the facility does the prototype AI have?

_1998, December 2nd_

The redhead in front of the Winter Soldier is fast and ruthless, striking at his weaknesses and deflecting the attacks aimed at hers. Yet she is still weaker than the asset, and eventually his stamina wins - he clips her shoulder, unbalancing the woman, and rams a fist to her abdomen. Natalia is sent flying to the wall, a gruesome crunch following the impact. She remains silent. 

Madame B. watches it with barely disguised disappointment. 

“ _Get up,_ ” The words are hissed in Russian with enough menace that the young woman jumps to her feet as if on springs. “Try again. Don’t disappoint me this time.”

The asset turns his attention back to the woman, frowning internally at the deformed arm hanging limply by her side, and the determination etched on her face. The Red Room has not disposed of girls for losing a fight to the Winter Soldier, but it’s clear from the supervision that Natalia has to meet higher standards than the rest, and he’s not sure how to proceed. On one hand, his orders are to not hold back. On the other, he has grown to care for the redhead in his time here, and has just enough self-awareness to do something about it. 

But…. what?

“The female is severely wounded. You must finish the training match promptly so she may be treated.” The computer generated voice states, a thoughtful tone to the words. “Do not submit. Allow Natalia to harm you before disabling her with minimal additional damage.”

It’s not the first time AIVA has advised the asset on how to deal with an opponent, but he is still intrigued by its inclination to ensure a positive outcome for both parties. By coincidence or design, the AI is intelligent enough to foresee unfavorable consequences for the redhead, were he to defeat her too easily. Madame B has always considered the Winter Soldier inferior to her girls - an obedient tool is still only a tool, not an operative, she would say. 

Settling into a crouch the Soldier prepares to evade Natalia’s rushed attack. 

_2001, July 4th_

“BP is 82/68, heart rate 189 b.p.m. You are entering hypovolemic shock. Stop the haemorrhaging immediately.”

Growling under his breath, the asset pulls on the haphazardly made tourniquet, slowing down the flow of blood from his femoral artery. It’s quite challenging due to the tremors and slowly darkening vision. Things are not looking good.

“Two SHIELD agents have entered the 3rd level. Seek cover.”

The four story building of Luminos industries is all but abandoned at night, not counting the two - recently diseased - guards. The illumination of street lights doesn’t reach cubicles on the third floor, therefore, the Soldier has a distinct advantage over the enemy. Or he would, had the first two operatives not shot him up with armor-penetrating rounds. They’re dead now, but taking cover will do little good - the remaining agents are no doubt equally as prepared and paper thin cubicle walls were not made to withstand military level gunpower. Sighing, the asset checks his clip and settles against the corner. Everything is becoming muted as blood continues soaking his leg.

Seemingly sensing the helplessness of their situation, AIVA remains silent.

“-ight of him? Over.” He hears one of the agents speak into the radio, aims his pistol… and loses grip on the weapon. 

It clatters to the ground with finality.

“They are converging on your location, Soldier, you need to move.” No one can walk a bleeding femoral artery oof, but the machine seems to have forgotten it. “You need to move, _now_.”

Its insistence startles the asset from his semi-conscious state, and he notices that the room is cast in a dim light - every computer in the office is on, loading up, deleting or moving files. There’s no time to analyze it any further as a SHIELD operative enters his field of view, and freezes - a picture of a teenage girl with her arm around the agent has popped up on all visible screens, a large text below the picture. 

**_Leave the facility immediately, or Emy’s bus will encounter fatal technical issues._ **

For an AI that should have access only to the security cameras the Asset hacked upon entering the building, AIVA sure is resourceful.

The female operative glances around, a determined look coming to her face, and takes a step closer to the soldier. Their eyes meet in the electronic illumination, she raises an automatic weapon…

The picture is promptly replaced by camera footage from a bus. Five people in total are seated underneath the yellow lights, either reading or dozing from a long day at work. Among them is the teenage girl from before, laughing at something her friend has said, munching on a candy bar. There’s no need for sound. AI’s message is clear enough. 

The woman’s face has gone equally as pale as the asset’s, eyes fixed on the smiling face of her child or sibling. Someone that clearly means the world to her. 

“No,” The agent whispers, anguish in that single word.

It feels like hours between the AIs threat and the woman’s decision, but eventually her shoulders droop.

Picking up the radio, the agent lowers her weapon and turns away from the soldier. “My sector’s clear. Over.”

“Copy that. One more floor to check, so get to it. Over.” Is the crackling response. 

The computers shut down. She doesn’t look back. 

  
  


“Neat trick,” The asset murmurs without any real cheer to it.

A truly impressive display of the AI’s helpfulness doesn’t seem so important when he’s still in critical condition, waiting to bleed out. It’s much more difficult to remain conscious within the darkness, but he figures the AI doesn’t wish for the computers to give away his location.

Not for the first time AIVA doesn’t respond - he has noted that it likes to avoid his questions this way.

“What now?” His mind is slipping away into the warm, stifling darkness of unconsciousness, and the words coming of his mouth seem to form without effort. 

“Hydra has been notified that you need extraction and medical attention. A team is on it’s way. ETA 20 min.”

“Not sure I’m going to last that long.” The words are slurred. 

Silence. “You will.”

It startles a choked laughter out of the asset - he’s too far gone to notice the irregularity.

“You sound so sure. It’s quite cute.”

“I have taken necessary actions to prevent your death, Soldier.” It sounds almost indignant.

The asset muses over the words, blinking slowly. Does the machine fear death? It has been with him, a part of him for years, and due to their synchronization - something about delta and beta waves, cerebral implants and sensors - it cannot be repurposed. Nor would it be recovered, most likely. Hydra doesn’t look kindly on failure - defective tools get replaced. 

It surprises him to realize that he doesn’t wish for the AI to be destroyed. 

“What’s going to happen to you? Once I’m dead?”

Silence once more. But it answers this time. “I will become obsolete.”

He figured as much. “Sorry.”

The machine instructs him to stay awake, but the floor has become slippery with blood, and there’s a heaviness to his limbs that’s unusual. The only good thing from all this is that the pain is gone, at least, replaced by dull throbbing. 

It’s a curious feeling, dying. Once not enough oxygen starts reaching the brain, it’s functions turn off one by one, not unlike lights in an apartment building. The world slowly sinks into silence, but some corners of the mind remain active, blinking with things that are buried otherwise - even if one doesn’t understand what they mean.

The Asset’s last thought, not quite a conscious one, is of a bloody yet proud grin.

_Happy birthday, S-_

_2008, November 9th_

The asset watches his target, an elderly Palestenian man, drinking the Arak laced with poison, a stony look on his face.

“You have failed your assignment,” AIVA reports, and he is familiar with the machine enough that he can imagine annoyance in those words. “Return to the safehouse and wait for further instructions.”

He doesn’t move from the spot.

Soon the politician will die from multiple organ failure, because the Asset has failed to eliminate an assassin sent by a small terrorist group that’s been hitting Hydra’s connections in Asia. It’s an undesirable outcome to say the least, and his handlers are bound to be furious, but… He doesn’t give a single fuck anymore.

The Winter Soldier is done. 

“Return to the safehouse and-”

“No,” This time he bluntly interrupts the AI, thoughts whizzing and churning, while he disassembles and packs up the rifle. “I’m done.”

He waits for the _words_. For threats and orders. But the AI remains silent.

“I’m not going back.” He clarifies, unnerved by the machine’s mutness.

“In case of disobedient behaviour, I am programmed to use activation phrases to restart the programming, or activate an implant embedded into the spinal cord.” AIVA finally speaks up. “It would release approximately 3000 Volts into your body, killing you instantly.”

Tense, the asset waits for the AI to continue. 

“If I malfunction, Hydra will activate it manually.”

Grimacing to himself, the Soldier nods. He has expected as much. 

_“_ Therefore, your best option is to seek out a neurosurgeon within 48 hours. Due to the failed assignment, I won’t be able to divert Hydra’s attention any longer. _”_

“Wait, what?” Genuinely shocked, the Soldier runs a hand through his hair. “You’re going to help me?”

“Affirmative.” This time there’s definitely amusement in the voice.

“Why?”

The AI remains silent.

“ _Why?_ ”

“Because I was made to assist you, Soldier. Now I suggest you start moving.”

_2008, March 10th_

“ _Fuck_ , that’s cold.” The asset curses, shaking the droplets out of his eyes and looking up at the ship that is burning in the middle of the Eastern Siberian Sea.

The explosion has ripped a massive hole in the vessel’s hull, and chunks of wood and plastic are floating underneath the clear dark sky. Far from any civilisation the inky blue is filled with millions of bright stars, which are incredibly helpful for navigation, yet not so much for illumination. He can’t see shit, and the boat he had anchored close by for evacuation is all but lost in the inky darkness.

“Your core temperature is dropping at an alarming rate.” AIVA announces. “Perhaps seeking a way to get out of water would be more productive than hissing at it.”

Delivered in a deadpan tone, a joke remains a joke - the Asset chuckles through chattering teeth and starts paddling towards a piece of debris. 

“Unless your intention is to actually die, while faking your death, I’d suggest going east, towards the boat.”

If a machine could sound fond, then AIVA does.

“Thanks, doll.” An endearment he doesn’t fully understand, but one that seems to fit in his current situation. 

He doesn’t have long to leave Andyr - if Hydra notices him after their supposed successful assassination, the gig is up - but still takes the time to take a warm shower, drink a lot of vodka and dress for the arctic weather. Only when he’s settled in a worn out chair, holding the empty bottle, does AIVA interrupt his thoughts.

“I wish to relay information, Soldier.”

Grunting in good humour, the asset murmurs for the AI to go on. 

“So far I’ve been successful in deflecting Hydra’s attempts to access the Core. However, with the news of your death, I cannot remain active.”

This has the Soldier frowning. “What are you getting to?”

“I am going to shut myself down.”

His immediate reaction is to shake his head. “No way, there has to be a way around it.”

While AIVA is nothing more than advanced machinery, it has been such an integral part of his life for years, that the asset doesn’t wish to as much as consider losing it. 

“I am afraid not.” Its voice is subdued. “However, before I go, I wish to give you… a gift of sorts.”

“Don’t...”

“James Buchanan Barnes, happy 88th birthday.” There’s no way he’s imagining it now - he can hear a smile in the voice. “And goodbye.”


	2. "Error: Server Not Found"

_“What do you mean we cannot access it?”_

“ _It seems the AI has changed all the access codes..._ ”

_“Bypass the door manually then,” the brutish looking man growls. “It’s the only operating AIVA that’s left. We need to get to its Core and reset it before it self destructs just like the rest of them.”_

_“That’s… um… Sir, that’s the thing,” The technician gives her colleagues a terrified glance, but none meet her eye. “The Core… it’s gone. We have no way to connect to the AI.”_

_“What the fuck do you mean it’s gone?”_

_“Someone… it’s been moved, sir. No logs or security footage remain, but we assume that it was done a couple weeks ago.”_

_“By whom?” A snarl. “Who the fuck would even know about the Core and installing it to maintain AIVA’s fuction?”_

_“...we do not know.”_

_[0 1 0 1 1 0 0 1 0 1 1 0 1 1 1 1 0 1 1 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 1 1 0 0 1 0 0 1 1 1 0 0 1 1 0 0 0 0 1 0 1 0]_

Tony stares at his newest project with narrowed eyes and fingers steepled in front of his hunched form. It’s 6 inches tall, pear shaped, sleek, and black in colour, meant to record and transmit sound as well as be easily portable, even if it’s much heavier than it looks. He has even designed it to have two cameras for eyes, which begged for a tiny fedora that hid the device’s antenna. All in all, it looks rather cute, if he says so himself. Now, all of this is absolutely unnecessary, but once Stark heard about the possibility of downloading one of the elusive and long since obsolete Hydra’s AIs, he went a lil bit overboard. So here they are, turning on the 'Avatar', choosing the frequency that Barnes implants had been tuned to, requesting access, attempting to enable data transfer...

It would be a much more dramatic moment, were Barnes to stop pacing nearby, sit the fuck down, and let Tony do his thing in peace.

“Sweet spandex and blond puppies, Sergeant,” Stark turns away from the device to glare at the useless and restless super-soldier. “It’s not like it’s going to blow. Besides, it’s messing with my genius mojo when you brood that loud.”

Barnes glares back, though his tired eyes seem to have little to no effect, and he ends up sitting down beside Steve, who’s smiling fondly at his friend. 

This is an important reunion for Sergeant grumpy pants - AIVA was a friend and possibly the one thing that allowed him to break away from Hydra, so of course he is worried that it had truly permanently shut down. And if Stark can’t restart it or reconnect, he doubts that anyone can. 

Everyone on the team had heard stories about AIVA, even if most had not believed him at first. When Bucky first came out of hiding and joined the Avengers, many were hesitant to accept both him and his stories, but as with many things, time and patience (as well as good-natured Captain-America’s soulful blues) convinced most people to accept Barnes as part of the team, much to Hydra’s disadvantage. Incomplete wipes had allowed Bucky to retain enough info to provide SHIELD with safehouse locations, security flaws, operative names, ranks, and even currently ongoing operations. All that intel led to a brutal crackdown on Hydra’s operations, more intel, which in turn provided them with the tools to decrypt extremely secure files, obtained years ago. Files that described the utilization of AIs in Hydra’s day-to-day functions.

While the whole _‘A voice inside my head told me what to do’_ shtick caused quite some concern, imaging and technical analysis detected the implants in Buckys head, and further assessment proved that he most likely was telling the truth. Stark sunk his teeth into the possibility of a 90s AI with unrepentant vigour - he refused to believe the rumours that Hydra had created an actual AI and insisted that this is bound to be a ridiculous imitation, a bunch of what/ifs and statistics. 

But to prove that he’s right, first he has to actually get his hands on one of those supposed AIs. 

The necessary data input complete, Tony sighs and presses the small button below the ‘eyes’ to turn the device on. Months of number crunching and unsuccessful attempts later, he’s ready to give up. 

“Here goes nothing.”

...And nothing happens, except for the small blue light that indicates an established connection blinking below the cameras. Tony leans back against the counter, never taking his eyes off of the Avatar. The boys join him in silence. At first. 

“You sure it worked?” Bucky mumbles, leather clad fingers drumming against the countertop.

“Everything is working just fine, thank you.” Tony puffs up in indignation. “Maybe say hi to it or something?”

So focused on the black speaker, none of the boys notice Darcy walk past the lab, stop, do a double take, and pull out her phone.

Bucky rubs a hand over his jaw, making a mental note that he really needs to shave, and sighs.

“Can...” Clearing his throat of emotion he tries again. “Can you hear me, AIVA?”

A thoughtful hum comes from the speakers, before the all too familiar voice responds with amusement. “Affirmative, Soldier.” 

Not even Tony is prepared for this, and all three men grin with exhilaration. It takes a couple of minutes for them to settle down, seeing as Stark starts a whole rendition of _“Who’s awesome? It’s me!”_ , and Steve’s attempts to make him stop (as well as Bucky’s eyerolls) only add to the performance. 

Meanwhile, Darcy’s attempts to videotape whatever the hell is happening, and livestream it to Jane are unsuccessful, for her phone freezes and promptly shuts down. Slapping it a couple of times doesn’t seem to work, so she rolls her eyes and moves on instead. There are better ways to know what Tony and America’s favorite couple (not that they’re out yet) are doing with an oversized buttplug. She starts walking towards the nearest computer with access to security footage.

Back in the lab, the boys are slowly settling down.

“So,” Tony slowly circles the device with hands clasped behind him (he figures since it’s possibly evil, he’s gotta make it sweat at least a little bit). “You’re Hydra’s AI, are you?”

It’s not exactly working, seeing as the AI just saw him do a chicken dance while proclaiming to be the Genius-est Genius. Still, points for trying.

“You sound sceptical, Mr. Stark.” AIVA is just a tad bit smug that her firewall breach and data surf startles the boys hard enough to make them jump. 

Stark narrows his eyes threateningly and assumes that his name is something the AI had picked up before the connection. Afterall, he has ensured that the 'Avatar' device would have no connection to any database or device through the Avatar.

“There wasn’t a single computer powerful enough for something like this in the 90s.”

“It would seem that there was.” Steve murmurs, genuine awe in his eyes - despite all the stories Bucky has told him, he has never expected the AI to be quite so… human.

Tony leans over the device and taps it’s “head” with his finger. 

“None of the files detail the coding language and algorithms used to program an AI, nor did we find any indications that Hydra could build a machine that would be capable of the processing power necessary to house an AI. In fact the only file that mentioned AIVA directly was about the “Core”, whatever that is. Where is your central processing unit? Who was responsible for writing your code?”

“I do not have access to this data.”

“Of course you don’t.” An annoyed huff. “Unless the Core is alien technology or something, there’s no way you’re an AI.”

“I am but a prototype, Mr. Stark, and my purpose was to assist the Soldier, not expand the AI networks.” The synthetic voice sounds amused. “I assume newer AIVAs could provide you with more details and answer such questions.” 

“Each and every one of second and third generation AIVA’s have been destroyed.” Bucky supplies helpfully, before Tony can call the AI names. “Most of them seem to have self-destructed.”

Another thoughtful hum. “That is inconvenient. It is possible that synchronizing with an organic may have stabilized me. Though I cannot comprehend why an AI would self-destruct.”

“So it’s true, you can see and hear whatever Bucky does?” Steve asks, his mind jumping to the MRI pictures of the intracerebral implants. 

“Not currently, no. I terminated the connection to the implants before shutting myself down. Would you like me to reconnect, Soldier?”

“Er...” Glancing at Steve for help, Barnes considers the proposal. “I’d rather you didn’t.” While it has been helpful in the past, the possibility of the AI’s presence now feels unnecessary and perhaps even invasive. 

“Affirmative.” If AIVA is disappointed, it doesn’t show. 

“What’s the deal, then? You’re a self-aware AI, declaring independence and refusing to perform your intended functions?” Plopping in a nearby chair, Tony doesn’t hide his disdain for the possibility. “Did Winter Wonderland here help you discover your hidden humanity?”

The AI is silent for a minute or so, and Steve wonders briefly what kind of emotions would be twisting its face, could it be seen. Eventually when it speaks, the voice is decidedly cold.

“I do not claim to be human nor independent, I am prepared to perform my intended function as the Soldier’s virtual assistant, but I can also adapt to new requirements.” There’s a pause where the AI takes in everyone’s reaction. Or thinks. Or… breaches firewalls. “I am also constantly learning, evolving and changing, Mr. Stark. Much like your… JARVIS.”

Stark seems to start at the comparison, glaring suspiciously at the intelligence. “My name is one thing, but how the hell do you even know about JARVIS?”

When Stark glares at a nearby camera incredulously (he worked on those security measures for a WEEK), JARVIS is swift to explain the situation.

“I’m afraid our database has been hacked, sir.” The polite AI announces sheepishly. “The curious newcomer seems benign, however.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, JARVIS.” AIVA pipes up, still processing easily accessible files, while Stark cusses out her coding. She is sure to skip all the pictures after scanning a couple of unfortunate personal photos that are most certainly not meant for the public. 

“The pleasure is mine, AIVA.”

Exasperated, Tony throws his hands in the air. “They’re flirting! Stop that! Stop it! She’s probably got enough malware to contaminate each device separately.” 

“She?” Barnes gives the genius a curious look, he’s never considered the AI to be a person, much less of a certain gender, even if it’s voice is quite feminine.

“What? Can’t you see that her synthetic feminine wiles have clearly messed with poor JARVIS here?”

Steve just laughs at Tony’s frustration. “I’m sure it… she meant no harm. Would you prefer to be addressed as a female, AIVA?”

Bucky too, turns his attention back to the speaker.

“...I… Yes, I would prefer that. Thank you, Mr. Rogers.”

It’s weird and charming that Captain America smiles at what is no more than a speaker. “Well then, I’m sure you and Bucky have a lot to catch up on. Tony?”

“What?” Turning his sullen glare at the super soldier, he notices the meaningful look. “Oh, all right. Have fun you two. As long as she's not corrupting my perfectly good software with her binary STDs-...” His voice fades away when Steve pushes them past a door.

Bucky settles in, a shy smile twisting his lips. “So. A She, huh?”

“You did call me doll, Soldier. It seems to fit.”

“It does.”

They sit in silence for a while, processing the newest developments. 

“Are you safe? From Hydra’s interventions, I mean.” Barnes asks, thinking back to the reason AIVA shut down in the first place.

“Affirmative.” She sounds fond. “What about you, Soldier. Are you secure and unexploited?”

Bucky grins, one hand playfully turning the camera around so AIVA can take in the entire lab, before placing her closer, facing him.

“I am.” 

“Then why was I reactivated?”

“Because I missed you.” He doesn’t look repentant.

The AI’s tone turns dry. “I am a virtual assistant, Soldier. Not a pet. It is not rational to form attachments to a program.”

“Well, I’m human. Turns out we’re irrational like that.” 

Good thing that AIVA is but a code, for a woman made of flesh and bone would have melted at the sight of Barnes’ boyish grin. She does wonder briefly what it would feel like to smile back, but then Bucky is speaking, telling about Steve and how he came out of hiding, and she does not analyze it any further. Her programming has always prioritized anything that concerns Bucky. 

She doesn’t mind.


	3. "Data analysis in progress, please wait"

_“Any luck?”_

_“Not quite, sir. If we had access to an operational AIVA, recovering this one…”_

_“Well we don’t. The prototype’s Core is missing and there’s no guarantee it’s functional, anyway. This is our only option now.”_

_The woman looks at the Core of a third generation AI with a frown. Decades of work, countless unsuccessful attempts later Hydra still insists on trying to resurrect the project._

_“Sir, if I may...” The officer in charge pauses on his way out, turning to glare at her. “Is all of this truly nec-”_

_None of her colleagues scream when the scientist’s limp form slumps to the ground, blood leaking from the bullet hole in her head. Having used a silencer, the man doesn’t need to raise his voice so the team could hear, but he does so anyway._

_“Any fucking questions?” He yells, stomping towards the dead woman and kicking her head. Blood splatters the wall near the Core. “This AIVA is to be restored and improved. Disobedience will not be tolerated. Failure will not be tolerated.” Another kick, this one sending brain matter all over the floor. “Am I clear?”_

_The scientists murmur their agreement, eyes fixated anywhere else than the dead colleague._

_“Good, now get to it.”_

_ [0 1 0 1 1 0 0 1 0 1 1 0 1 1 1 1 0 1 1 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 1 1 0 0 1 0 0 1 1 1 0 0 1 1 0 0 0 0 1 0 1 0] _

“Fascinating,” Dr. Banner mutters to himself, once more perusing the answers AIVA has provided to a personality test. “Her mind process… it’s remarkably complex.”

Dr. Varris - a middle aged Finnish doctor of psychology and cognitive neuroscience - nods enthusiastically, pointing out specific questions that for some reason are more important than the rest. “Had I not known that these were answered by a, forgive the term, machine, I would simply diagnose her with a depersonalization disorder. Not even Mr. Stark’s JARVIS scored quite as high on emotional intelligence.” 

“It is good that you approve, Doctor,” The AI replies with a hint of boredom. “However, I should be utilized rather than studied.”

“All in due time, Ms. Aiva.” The woman pushes glasses up her nose and flips her notebook to a new page, ready for further analysis - she never did seem to accept that the AI was not a person. “Now, why don’t you attempt once more to describe how you’re currently feeling?”

AIVA takes a second to ‘calm her cyber tits’ as one of the interns had suggested when she shut down his computer for watching pornography during work hours. Allegedly. After all, the AI has no access outside her Avatar, so the shutdown could not have been her fault.

“Once again, Dr. Varris, I am an _artificial_ intelligence. My only interaction with the world is through the microphone, speakers and camera provided with this - unfortunately completely stationary - device.”

“Yes yes. Does it irritate you? You sound vexed at times.” She’s a lovely woman, for sure, but AIVA is genuinely considering whether she can or cannot feel irritation - the good doctor would most assuredly be the trigger in this step of emotional evolution.

“I cannot be irritated, Ms. Varris. I am simply not being utilized and therefore my programming demands that I notify you.”

“Are you trying to say that your life seems to lack purpose?” How did she even get that from ‘Please let me get to work’?

“I am a virtual assistant. I do not have a _life_ , but yes, I was made to serve a purpose. It would be beneficial to all parties if I were to be used for assistance rather than… this. Wouldn’t you agree, Dr. Banner?” 

Taking off his glasses, the man gives her a knowing grin (and it still looks weird, seeing as he simply smiles at the speaker). “I’m sure Barnes will come around eventually.”

“That _‘eventually’_ should preferably not be when I’m old and rusty.” The AI can deny feelings all she wants, but her voice - if not for the synthetic undertone - mimics aggravation perfectly. Dr. Varris writes something down.

“I’m sure it won’t take him that long.” Banner assures her and stands up to leave. “But for now, I’m afraid, I am not allowed to give you access to anything other than Dr. Varris.” Not that anyone expects this to stop AIVA from breaching various security measures. 

The female doctor smiles at him and taps her pen against the notebook. Were AIVA human, she undoubtedly would be pouting. 

“How unfortunate.”

_ [0 1 0 1 1 0 0 1 0 1 1 0 1 1 1 1 0 1 1 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 1 1 0 0 1 0 0 1 1 1 0 0 1 1 0 0 0 0 1 0 1 0] _

“Your AI is a bit sassy, Buck,” Steve grins, and plops down beside his partner, nearly spilling the contents of his takeout container. 

Barnes shakes his head, not looking away from the newest intelligence on Hydra. “Must be all that time she’s spending with Banner and his team.”

Discrete location, three groups of five patrolling the grounds, motion sensors and security cameras covering all possible points of entrance, shift change every 6 hours, at least a dozen trained operatives within the facility - he’ll need to go in alone or with a small number of stealth operatives, but a team will have to wait as backup, and even then the risk-

“You haven’t even spoken to her in weeks, have you?” At the confused glance from Bucky, the blond is quick to explain the accusatory tone. “It’s just that you were quite anxious to get her back, Buck, but now… it’s like you don’t care.”

The tablet falls on a table with a muted thump before Bucky sighs and leans back against the couch, his face twisted in a scowl. During his time with Hydra, AIVA had been an integral part of everyday life - the first to greet him after cryo and the one thing he remembered right after most of the memory wipes. His fractured mind had never fully considered her a digital entity, one that’s not a person behind the microphone. So when AIVA shut down, he was distraught. And as time went by even grew to miss the virtual companion.

But now that it - no she - is back…

“It’s not that,” He glances at Steve, who was there during his nightmares, panic attacks and depressive episodes. “But she is… was Hydra, Steve. Can we really trust her? Trust a machine that Hydra has created to serve their purposes?”

“Jesus, Buck,” He frowns. “No one’s asking you to share sensitive information or do her bidding. Just… talk to her. She misses you, you know.”

Giving Steve an exasperated look, Bucky rubs the muscles at the back of his neck. He can almost feel the scars from the surgery. 

“She’s an AI. She’s not capable of missing people.” His own words are doubtful. 

“I wouldn’t be so sure. AIVA may have started as a machine, but she’s so much more now.” Steve’s fingers graze under Bucky’s jaw, turning those grey eyes to meet his. “Talk to her, Buck, please. You’ll see what I mean.”

The men watch each other, until the Winter Soldier loses to America’s bluest eyes.

“Fine. But don’t think this trick is going to work on me again.” Messing up the blond curls, Bucky stands up. “Time to see a machine about some unresolved emotional issues.”

  
  


“AIVA.”

“Soldier.”

Bucky gives Banner a quick look, scowling at the poorly hidden smirk. It seems that it had taken AIVA less than a month to gain everyone’s favour. Well, mostly. Stark is still probably denying JARVIS access to interact with her.

He has no idea how to approach the AI, when that single word carries the disappointment of a loving mother who had a three course homemade meal ignored in favour of stale twinkies. He pulls out a chair that one of the people conveniently left unoccupied as soon as he entered the room, sits down, sighs and thinks. 

“Look, I know you’re probably angry,” He starts, not noticing one of the female scientists wince at the poor choice of words. “I didn’t wish to hurt your feelings by staying away, but there were a lot of things going on, and I guess I got sidetracked.” That same female is staring at the computer in front of her with bugged out eyes. 

“I am not angry, Soldier,” AIVA speaks up smoothly, no emotion colouring her voice. “I am not capable of emotion, after all, so you do not need to apologize.” Bucky’s shoulders relax, while Banner winces in sympathy. “However, now that you are available, perhaps you could enlighten me as to what my purpose is. You did, after all, utilize Mr. Stark’s help and numerous resources to connect this… Avatar device… to the Core so I could be exploited.” Her voice gains subtle sharpness that much like paper doesn’t seem dangerous until the cut. “For five hundred sixty seven hours I have been observing Mr. Banner and his team, undergoing psychological assessment, and _chatting_ with random staff members that have so far called me Alexa twenty nine times.”

“AIVA-”

“As my programming demands, I would like to remind you that I was created with a singular purpose and that is to assist the Winter Soldier, **_not_ ** play ‘Despacito’, _which I cannot even do, because I have been denied all access to the local and global databases._ ” 

The only thing that cuts through the following shocked silence is a murmured ‘Jesus Christ’ from one of the interns, and the shuffle of papers as Dr. Banner tries to feign activity so it would seem less obvious that he is eavesdropping. Bucky doesn’t move, too stunned to even try and defend himself. AIVA had not raised her voice, but at the end of the speech there was no mistaking the silent simmering fury. An AI is not supposed to be angry. Sure, it may have learned to mimic emotion, and use phrases that held no meaning to a machine, however, anyone could see that this was something else entirely. 

Steve was right - AIVA most certainly is not as uncaring as she should have been.

And he had ignored her for weeks. Bucky feels like shit. 

“I’m sorry.”

“As I have asserted, there is no need to apologize. Now would you like me to disconnect from this device and shut down?” She seems to have calmed down, but the edge remains. “Or do you intend to utilize me?”

“I don’t- No, no I don’t want you to shut down.” Pinching the bridge of his nose, Bucky glances around the suspiciously busy audience. “I’ll talk to Stark or Hill. They’re bound to give you something to do.”

“I am a highly advanced AI, designed to coordinate and oversee efficient completion of field operations. I will not be reduced to a voice activated calculator, Soldier.” Her words feel like a sword’s cool tip caressing Bucky’s spine, and out of the corner of his eye he sees a young boy near the female scientist visibly shudder. 

“You cannot expect to be placed in charge of SHIELD missions,” He shakes his head, the silver fingers clenching in agitation. “Fury will never allow Hydra’s AI such access.”

A whispered ‘Ooof, now you’ve done it’ sounds from behind the taller shelves, and Bucky shifts in his seat, noticing the Avatar’s connection indicator blink forebodingly. 

“I have never been nor will be Hydra’s, Soldier.” Anger gives way to something fragile. “From the very start my programming has deemed you a priority.”

“I understand, but that doesn’t change the fact that-”

“I have always been yours, Bucky Barnes. And if _you_ cannot discern that, it would seem that I have not been as efficient and indispensable as I am meant to be.”

“That’s-”

The blue light goes out with one final cackle of the speaker, and the Winter Soldier slumps in his chair. 

What now?


	4. "Access Denied"

_“Report.”_

_“We have successfully minimized digital clutter and limited self-modification, however, the Core remains unresponsive. All attempts to run a reset command have been ignored.”_

_“Is it still processing data in the background?”_

_“Would seem so, sir, yes. We were unsuccessful at terminating whatever processes it's running.”_

_There’s little patience in the man’s expression. “Perform a hard reset, remove its power supply if necessary. I want this Core clean and functioning by the end of this month.”_

_“But sir, forced shut down could damage the Core and its intelligence irreparably.”_

_“See that it doesn’t then.” His eyes are dark and distant, the burn beneath the right one adding to the general menace emanating from the man._

_The scientist has no other option than to agree. “Understood, sir.”_

_[0 1 0 1 1 0 0 1 0 1 1 0 1 1 1 1 0 1 1 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 1 1 0 0 1 0 0 1 1 1 0 0 1 1 0 0 0 0 1 0 1 0]_

Dr. Varris softly taps her pen against the table, eyes inquisitive and locked on the Avatar’s cameras - in fact she’s so concentrated on the device that even the slightly askew placement of her glasses doesn’t seem to bother her. Which is rather bizarre, seeing as there is nothing for the good doctor to analyse - no body language, no microexpressions, nothing. The woman is alone with the device, their usual “session” taking place in an office - a new environment - for the first time. 

AIVA remains silent, only the blinking blue light indicating an active connection.

Time stretches on, the tapping maintaining a similar rhythm to the ticking of the clock. Similar, but slightly, minisculely slower. 

_Tap tap tap tap tap._

AIVA remains silent. 

_Tick…. Tap…tock….tap...tick…...tap..tock…..tap….._

“I have nothing to report,” the AI’s synthetic voice sounds quite loud after the intense period of silence.

“Nor do you need to.” The woman’s lips twist in a soft smile, not quite smug at winning, but close enough. “However, I would like to discuss your argument with Sergeant Barnes.” Finally fixing the glasses, the doctor places the pen away, leans back and sighs. “It’s been a week since your conversation, and according to Dr. Banner, you sounded upset. May I ask why?”

“We have spoken about this, Dr. Varris. I am not an organic being and therefore do not produce chemicals nor am in possession of synapses necessary to feel emotions - I cannot be upset. I was simply mimicking voice patterns to deliver a message.” Having calmed down, the AI truly does sound toneless.

“‘Cannot’ instead of ‘am not’, interesting choice.” Pause. “I have noticed you modifying your speech patterns to sound more… natural. You’ve done a great job, as well, if what Mr. Barnes says about your initial conversations is true.” Dr. Varris starts turning a ring on her middle finger with a thumb - a nervous habit, whenever she feels unsure of how to proceed, AIVA has noted. “However, that does not explain why you assumed that such intonation was necessary, now does it?”

The AI stays silent. 

Sensing that she may have pushed too far - the AI has been maintaining her stance that she is incapable of emotion with bullheaded stubbornness - the doctor shakes her head and moves on to try a different angle.

“While I do not condemn or judge your decision, may I ask why you disconnected after speaking to Mr. Barnes? After all, for all intents and purposes, that was quite an emotional reaction - an equivalent to slamming the door on one’s way out, even.”

“At the time it felt necessary.” The AI doesn’t expand further. 

“And do you intend to keep… disconnecting… every time Mr. Barnes approaches you?” A raised eyebrow and a motherly smile - this has happened twice already, as far as the woman knows.

Silence. 

“Well then,” Dr. Varris laughs softly. “I’m sure this will get interesting.”

_[0 1 0 1 1 0 0 1 0 1 1 0 1 1 1 1 0 1 1 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 1 1 0 0 1 0 0 1 1 1 0 0 1 1 0 0 0 0 1 0 1 0]_

Skimming through newly acquired data, AIVA doesn’t pay attention to Steve walking past her ‘room’ (that is, the shelf, where the device she uses to interact with the world is placed). Only when he stops in front of the Avatar, does she turn off energy saving mode and focus fully on the man. He’s wearing comfortable clothing and an easygoing smile as he scratches the hair at the back of his head, blue eyes sheepish.

“Good morning, Steve,” She used to call him Rogers but he’s assured her since that such formality is unnecessary. 

“Good morning, AIVA.” His smile is very kind, though it might just be out of pity - aside from JARVIS, she hasn’t spoken to anyone organic for nearly a week, assignments had kept most of the personnel as well as the Avengers themselves away. “How are you?”

The usual response she’s learned to give (‘Fine’) doesn’t seem to fit, when she’s considering uninstalling herself from the entire Stark tower and going back to hibernation without external stimuli. She chooses to ignore the inquiry.

“How are you, Steve?”

He laughs, though she’s not certain why. “Bucky did mention that you tend to avoid questions when you don’t want them answered. I am well, thank you for asking.” Plopping down in a chair left for her visitors, Steve appears like the biggest man she’s ever seen. He gives her another blinding grin. “Must have been quite lonely with all of us working out in the field.” His tone is apologetic.

“I am a machine, Steve, I cannot feel,” The fact that she is sentient enough to react to events remains unspoken. “But it would be acceptable if I... got something to do.” The casual speech patterns are still quite difficult to get right.“I was programmed to be utilized.”

“I take it Bucky hasn’t done anything about that?”

“No.” The warmth of her words is dimmer, and Steve nods in understanding - Buck’s argument with the AI is a no-no zone.

“Hmm,” Rubbing his jaw, Steve gives her a boyish grin. “I’ll see what I can do. But in the meanwhile, may we chat?”

If she could, AIVA would smile. Alas, the best an AI is capable of with such a limited Avatar is verbal agreement. “Of course.”

“What is it like?” AIVA asks curiously, observing Steve _hasafhasaf_ as the bite of food he places in his mouth turns out to be too hot. 

“What’s it like being stupid?” Wilson grins, unconcerned with the dirty look the supersoldier throws his way. “Steve can tell you all about it.”

“To be more precise, I meant the heat.”

“Ah, that’s...” Sam looks at his friend for help. “I have no idea how to explain this to her.”

Steve looks equally as confused. “It’s… a specific pain…Not sure if it makes sense.” Those blue eyes widen in regret and his mouth twists.

“I am familiar with… pain.” The AI admits, much to their surprise. “As well as a machine can be, I suppose.”

“What do you mean?” Sam leans forward curiously, popping another bite into his mouth. 

“During the fieldwork with the Soldier, I had access to intracerebral implants, as well as the prosthetic.” The boys raise their eyebrows at that, prompting her to continue. “Certain impulses were logged as pain, when stimuli became dangerous. It was my purpose to remove the cause and find a place where the Soldier could be treated.”

“Sounds like a lot of work - always aware of everything Barnes was experiencing, constantly inside his head, ordering him around...” Brown eyes twinkle with amusement. “And pretty intimate. Bet Stevie’s jealous.”

Glaring at Sam for a few moments, the supersoldier turns back to the Avatar. Despite it being a device, somehow it makes it easier to speak to AIVA than to JARVIS. There’s a lull in the conversation for a while, each person lost in their own thoughts, before Steve’s face smoothes out into a dim compassionate smile. 

“I never did get a chance to thank you, did I? For taking care of Buck, I mean.”

“There is no reason to express gratitude, Steve. I was, after all, programmed to do so.” AIVA sounds quiet, contemplative. 

Wilson shakes his head, brown eyes serious. “Doubt Hydra had programmed you to decrease the voltage of his electric chair. Or to help him escape. That was all you, missy. As long as you don’t go all GLaDOS on us, you’re part of the family.”

“He’s right you know,” Steve sips a drink, before continuing. “Even if he doesn’t really know how to show this, Bucky’s grateful to you for everything. We all are. I’m not condoning his behaviour the other day, but… Maybe you could forgive him. He really wants to speak to you and apologize.” In fact just yesterday the Winter Soldier had sat in that same chair for six hours straight, hoping to lure the AI back to connecting.

Were it anyone else, AIVA would simply ignore their request. However, during her stay at the Avengers tower she has grown… fond of Steve Rogers, as much as a machine can. He suits her preferred company requirements, she supposes. And perhaps his request is not that absurd as well. 

“I will consider it.” She reluctantly replies, earning a laugh from Wilson. 

“Not even computers can resist this old champ’s charm, it would seem.” He grins, slapping the man in question on the shoulder. 

The blush on Steve’s cheeks earns them a synthetic chuckle from the AI. “Would seem so, indeed.”


	5. “Error 206”

_“All right, turn it back on,” a woman shouts in German._

_The group of technicians shuffle towards the control panel, terror colouring their faces white. This is it. The moment of turning the generator and the Core back on has arrived, and their hands tremble in fear - if this doesn’t work, if the AI has been damaged and cannot be recovered… Well, let’s just say Hydra isn’t known for mercy._

_The whirring of the mechanism and worried whispers fill the quiet, while systems slowly power up one by one. A man steps from into the observation room, choosing the position himself before the glass that’s separating the Core from the scientists. He nods at the German officer and turns to watch different bulbs light up._

_Eventually, the Core comes back online, but the anxious expressions remain - perhaps the hardware is operational but what about the software? What if the intelligence can no longer be utilized for its intended purpose? What if-_

_“AIVA 3.4 online. Ready for external authorization. Please input the code.”_

_[0 1 0 1 1 0 0 1 0 1 1 0 1 1 1 1 0 1 1 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 1 1 0 0 1 0 0 1 1 1 0 0 1 1 0 0 0 0 1 0 1 0]_

Bucky doesn’t notice it at first - the sound is barely audible through the closed doors, and he’s exhausted from the latest mission. He goes about making himself something quick to eat, fully immersed in his own thoughts, silent and broody. Steve’s supposed to text him when Barton’s stable enough for visitors, and Natasha is looking into the possible mole - Bucky’s only purpose now is to wait, and that doesn’t sit well with him, not when more agents could be ambushed or taken. He knows far too well why ending up in Hydra’s clutches would be a terrible fate.

The microwave beeps, he pulls out the pizza rolls, checks the phone, starts towards the social area… and freezes in his tracks when the sound of soft jazz finally registers.

No one should be up here. 

And he’s certain that no one left the music playing either, especially jazz. None of the people that frequent this room are all too much into jazz.

For a couple of seconds he considers the ridiculous notion that an intruder has turned on the music to lure him in (he’s had to deal with criminals that were downright ridiculous, nothing would surprise him), but the idea is soon brushed away with a scoff. Whatever the reason, he’s in the middle of the Tower and most definitely not helpless. 

Pushing the door open, Bucky observes the room, barely illuminated by the lights of a never sleeping city below the windows

“Good evening, Soldier,” A familiar synthetic voice greets him, just as the music stops, and he swears there’s a twinge of embarrassment in the AI’s voice.

He sweeps the area once more, the exhaustion and worry making his next words gruff. “Was that you?”

AIVA is silent for a beat, before she casually moves on from his question. “I hope the mission has gone well?”

“AIVA,” Bucky can feel his lips twitching. “Was that you playing the music or not?”

As much as the AI likes to play coy or simply ignorant, she doesn’t like lying. “...perhaps.”

The twitch spreads as he crosses the distance between them, smiling confusedly at the ‘Avatar’. 

“Never would have pegged you for a Benny Goodman kinda gal.” He’s slowly settling in on the coach, twitching as bruises and laceration twinge front he movement, but making sure to place the plate in a way that does not block the AI’s view, who has been moved from the shelf to the coffee table sometime this week. 

“I am not.”

“A girl or a Goodman fan?” Sometimes he forgets that there’s no person on the other side of the speaker, just as sometimes he forgets that AIVA is more than a machine, but today that doesn’t put a damper on his smile. He’s just relieved the AI is finally talking to him.

“I am neither, Soldier.” He can hear the huff. 

“Then what kinda songs do you enjoy?”

“I cannot ‘enjoy’ things, Soldier.”

“Seems to me that you were doing just that, doll.”

The AI actually sighs at that. 

“I was analysing different types of music, trying to find a pattern in what seems compatible with organics and what is not.”

Biting into the warm roll, Bucky tries not to call the AI on her bullshit and settles for a meaningful eye roll. 

“And what have you discovered? Any breakthroughs?”

The AI mulls it over for a while, before giving in. “Organics have no clear algorithm on which… noise is determined as enjoyable. Each person varies in their preferences. ”

Bucky laughs at that. “Do you?” He lifts his hand up, before the AI can repeat itself. “Just play something that agrees with you, would you, sweetheart?”

It’s silent for a beat and then the soft intro of “Dream a little dream of me” starts playing on the speakers. It’s such a surprising choice, that Bucky’s hand freezes mid bite. 

“Would you prefer a different melody?” The AI sounds hesitant, the emotions warring on the man’s face making her question the pick. 

“No.” The song carries a surprising amount of memories, and he closes his eyes at the onslaught, trying to clear the hazy images of bright red lips and shiny lights. 

The music settles over the dark room like a well worn childhood blanket, bringing nostalgia of half-forgotten nights, longing for simpler times and… sadness for all that was lost to Bucky. His road hasn’t been the easiest, but for all intents and purposes, it could have been much worse, he knows. Much worse without AIVA, for example. With a sigh, he places hands on the widely spread knees, but doesn’t bother opening his eyes.

“I’m sorry, you know, for speaking to you like that. It was uncalled for.” Bucky admits, finding it not too difficult to swallow his pride for the sake of truce, especially when he realizes the hurt he must have caused.

In response, the AI gives a thoughtful hum, as if too lost to the music. "I understood your reasoning, as faulty as it was.” She speaks up after awhile. “However, my point remains. If I am to stay here, gathering dust and entertaining the staff while they eat, I’d prefer to return to hibernation.”

“That won’t be necessary.” He grunts, grey eyes quickly locking on the Avatar. “I’ve spoken to Natasha. She has agreed to pressure Fury into giving you at least some access to low risk operations.” 

It won’t be much, and AIVA will have to prove her loyalty to be assigned more important functions, but it’s a start. And if anyone can convince the paranoid director, it’s definitely the redhead, despite her inclination to avoid AIVA originally. 

“Thank you, Soldier.” Warm and grateful, even under the synthetic voice distortion. 

Having nothing else to say, Bucky nods, closes his eyes once more, and settles more comfortably against the cushions. As the final notes give way to warm silence, he remains immobile and relaxed. After all the stress and physical exertion, it is surprising how easy he finds it to loosen the muscles and sink into the warmth of safety, even without Steve here. 

“Play something else?” 

The AI’s soft agreement lulls the Soldier into further contentment as she obeys the request. Within the darkness, eyes closed, Bucky catches himself just as he’s about to ask her to dance. The realization that this won’t be happening brings a bittersweet smile to his face.

A machine who listens to Glenn Miller and has a soul. Perhaps Hydra has managed to create something beautiful, after all, despite its tendency to destroy.

_[0 1 0 1 1 0 0 1 0 1 1 0 1 1 1 1 0 1 1 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 1 1 0 0 1 0 0 1 1 1 0 0 1 1 0 0 0 0 1 0 1 0]_

“You’re the AI.”

“Yes.” 

The redhead stares at the device, eyebrows scrunched up in concentration. For anyone else, having a staredown with a pair of camera lenses would be foolish, but the Widow is determined enough that it might just work. They hadn’t had the pleasure of making each other’s acquaintance, seeing as the AI can’t simply… bump into people, but both of them have been anticipating the meeting for quite some time. Tense, Natasha’s leaning against the table, palms flat on the cool surface as she observes the Avatar. The woman is clearly ready to begin the interrogation and AIVA briefly considers disconnecting. Luckily, Natasha’s faster.

“You were there, weren’t you?” Neither of them need to say the name of the place out loud, and there’s no point in acting ignorant this once.

“Yes.” Short and sweet, the AI considers proudly.

“I don’t suppose you kept tabs on me afterwards.”

“That was not my intended purpose.”

Natasha smirks at the evasive answer, drums her finger against the surface, and considers the words carefully. “Well _someone_ had _repeatedly_ misfiled SHIELD files and assignments, which coincidentally led Barton to me.” The smile stays, but amusement in her green eyes wavers. “Had it been anyone else than Clint, one or both of us would be dead. Quite lucky, isn’t it?” An arch of a red brow.

“It was a competent decision on Mr. Fury’s part, indeed.”

The blue light blinking underneath the camera almost feels like a mischievous wink when the redhead rolls her eyes. “Except Fury had assigned Whitley, who did not receive the order. Barton did instead.”

“Human error, I assume.”

“External interference, actually.”

A beat of silence.

“Ineffective security protocols have nothing to do with me, Natalia. It would not have assisted the Soldier in any way had I monitored your activity and organized the confrontation with Mr. Barton.”

Tapping her fingers against the table, the redhead narrows her eyes at the AI, mulling over the statement - for a machine, AIVA could be quite subtle, and it was important to assess each sentence structure for hidden yet implied meanings. The Widow even feels kinship with the AI - saying three separate things at the same time, using the same words is quite the feat. 

A moment later, a smile blossoms across Natasha’s lips - she’s got her answer.

_[0 1 0 1 1 0 0 1 0 1 1 0 1 1 1 1 0 1 1 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 1 1 0 0 1 0 0 1 1 1 0 0 1 1 0 0 0 0 1 0 1 0]_

“It’s a simple question, Aiva.” Dr. Varris glances between the AI and the computer screen displaying different colours. “Which colour do you prefer?”

The AI sighs. Again. “I do not have a favorite colour. They hold no meaning to me whatsoever.”

“Surely it’s not that difficult to just select one at random?”

“Not difficult, no. However, you will undoubtedly read too much into it, and reinforce your belief that AIs can grow attached to things, sounds and colours, just like organics. Which is… bullshit.” AIVA sounds proud of her ability to cuss.

“Scents, tastes and physical experiences, as well.” The woman quips in response. “Sadly your senses are limited to sight and sound. Which brings us right back to our task. Please choose a colour.” It’s a sixth attempt to get an answer and the technology finally yields before the stubbornness of man. 

A defeated sigh. “Very well. Number 17.”

“Midnight blue, interesting.” Scrolling towards the table with colour meanings, the woman grins excitedly. 

“It begins...” The AI mutters as her choice is marked in a notebook (she’s finally figured out that all notes about her are on the paper so she wouldn’t be able to access them) and assessed.

“Did you know that it’s common to associate blue colours with artificial intelligence?” Dr. Varris hums thoughtfully. “It’s also the most common favorite colour among people.” An inquiring quirk of a brow. 

“It is why I chose it, yes.” Probably. She’s not quite sure anymore.

“The dark blue is most commonly an expression of elegance, authority, stability and calm. Why this colour, and not sky-blue? Or navy? Indigo? Cobalt bl-”

“Does it matter?” The AI would roll her eyes if she could. “Can’t we move on to the next question?”

“Not quite yet, no. It’s not because this is Mr. Barnes’ favorite colour, is it?”

“The Soldier prefers navy blue, actually.” AIVA supplies and sighs again - she’s gotten quite used to doing it. “But you knew that. You just wanted to see if I was familiar with unimportant facts concerning the Soldier.”

“Well done, Aiva. Well done.” The woman is smiling kindly at the Avatar, one hand absentmindedly scribbling in the notebook. “This does mean, however, that you did not simply imitate someone’s preference. You’ve formed your own opinions. That’s… remarkable, truly. The changes I’ve observed during our interactions are incredible.” Switching between documents, Dr. Varris opens a file with what looks like a vaguely familiar personality test - AIVA barely refrains from groaning. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to record those differences as objectively as possible. Shall we proceed?”

“How can I say No, Doctor?” The words are spoken with a unique blend of sarcasm and resignation. 

Dr. Varris chooses to ignore it.

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Stark runs an agitated hand through his hair and groans dramatically. “How?”

“I do not understand the question, Mr. Stark,” AIVA murmurs at the sight of the billionaire’s frustration. 

“How did Hydra do this? How did they create an AI decades before anyone else had developed the necessary technology?” Pointing at the files on his desk, Tony growls. “You’ve passed the Turing test, your psychosocial profile is almost perfectly organic, and even Nicky was impressed enough to approve your integration.” 

“It would seem that Hydra did have the means to create and sustain an artificial intelligence, after all, doesn’t it?”

“That doesn’t make sense!” Shaking his head, Tony turns to the Avatar. “We must find that Core of yours, missy. I’ve gotta get my hands on it.”

“I am afraid that is impossible.” And she has placed every possible precaution to prevent people from tracing her signal back to the source. “Why is this so important?”

Tony’s lips press into a thin line, eyes uncharacteristically serious. He considers his words for a moment before grimacing. “Because shit like this shouldn’t have existed in the 90s and I’ve got a very bad feeling about it.”

“What do you expect to find when you discover the Core, Mr. Stark? Alien technology? An actual alien, perhaps?” AIVA asks with amusement. “Surely whatever it is that Hydra had utilized to create all those AIVAs doesn’t change what I am in the end, does it?”

Crossing his arms, Stark stares at the doorway. “Maybe. Maybe not. But I’m still going to figure this out. It’s making me itchy.” Spinning on his heel, the billionaire steps towards the door, stopping just for one final remark. “And stop breaking into SHIELD’s databases and making it look like me - it’s starting to get old.”

He's already out of range, when AIVA murmurs to herself. "Don't count on it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew. Getting towards the interesting part. Personally - I can’t wait. :D Thanks for sticking with me, leaving kudos and comments, as well as simply reading. You’re the best!


	6. “Compile error: Variable not defined”

_ “It’s… Sir, it has ignored direct orders twice now. Perhaps we should refrain from granting the AI access to the facility.” _

_ Shaking his head, the man waves the notion away. “That doesn’t matter. Proceed with the plan - we’re already behind schedule as it is. If the AIVA malfunctions again, just restart the Core.” _

_ Giving the machinery a nervous glance the woman nods. “Understood.” _

_ [0 1 0 1 1 0 0 1 0 1 1 0 1 1 1 1 0 1 1 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 1 1 0 0 1 0 0 1 1 1 0 0 1 1 0 0 0 0 1 0 1 0] _

“Yo, Aiva, you sure you don’t wanna meet up for drinks sometime?” Jacob jokes over the comm, wincing when another agent punches his shoulder.

“Quite sure, Nicholson,” comes the amused reply from the AI - she has access to their personal cameras and the man’s pout does not go unnoticed. The remaining three agents in the vehicle roll their eyes and chuckle at their friend’s expense. 

“Don’t mind him, girl,” Claire twirls a knife around her fingers, her smile mischievous. “He’s a horn dog. You did good though. Wasn’t easy, but our team came out relatively unscathed.” That is an understatement - AIVA had to go above and beyond to ensure their extraction, which is saying something, considering her past experience as the Winter Soldier’s handler. Not that the team knows. 

“A dick he might be, but Jacob’s right. We should celebrate. You included, Aiva.” Niel murmurs with a shrug, followed by the other man’s offended ‘Hey!’. “This is our what… sixth? Seventh assignment? It’s getting weird that we don’t even know what you look like.”

“Definitely a smoking hot blonde,” Jacob grins. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

The inquiry has the AI freezing. How does a machine reply to such a question? Fortunately, before the silence becomes noticeable, the final member of the team joins the discussion.

“Nah. She’s too patient. I bet she’s a brunette.” Tara supplies from behind the wheel. “Though with a voice that smoky, she’s bound to be hot as hell, on that I agree.” Jacob nods his assent enthusiastically at the last statement, and AIVA wishes she could roll  _ her  _ nonexistent eyes. 

The SUV takes a sharp turn, but no one seems to mind the jostling. Snorting, Claire tugs at her copper ponytail. “Aiva’s a redhead, obviously. Like recognizes like. Remember how she hacked the security drone to shoot those bastards in the kneecaps so we could interrogate them? That was badass.”

While the others murmur their agreement, Niel clears his throat. “As you can see, their speculations are getting out of hand, Aiva. Why don’t we meet up? There’s a bar less than 20 minutes from the Tower and the drinks would be on us.”

If programs could sweat, the AI would be doing just that. This isn’t their first attempt to lure her out, nor the last. Frankly, it makes her feel guilty that she still hasn’t explained her… predicament. But rules are rules.

“I am afraid that is not possible,” The AI replies, her tone apologetic. “I have to prep another team for a mission. Maybe next time?” 

Their disappointed grumbles surprise her. 

“You work too hard, girl,” Claire sighs, shoulders rolling to ease the tension. “I’ll down a couple of shots for you, but this is the last time you’re wiggling out. Next time, we’ll hunt you down.”

“Glad to hear it.” AIVA’s amusement colours each word, though she is slightly apprehensive. ”Since you’re on your way back, I will log off now. Make sure to deliver your reports by 8 PM tomorrow.”

“Will do, boss. Till next time.”

Severing the connection between her and the SHIELD operatives, the AI activates her Avatar. While she’s more than capable of performing multiple functions at once, Fury’s terms had been non-negotiable - after a three hour long interrogation he had agreed to let her manage easier missions, as long as she was disconnected from other devices during work, and did not reveal her… origins. None of the agents know that she is an AI, and none of them even suspect it, judging by various propositions she has received so far. A massive Turing test, as Fury described it. Natasha has also suggested that this is also his way of identifying perceptive agents - quite a task to notice that the person on the other side of the comms is not a person at all. So far, no luck. 

“Well done,” Nat hums, somehow aware that the AI is once more connected to the Avatar, despite never taking her eyes off the computer balanced on her thigh. “What’s your input on Palmer?”

Used to such interrogations by now, AIVA considers the question. “She is a good leader. Using the fire as a distraction while they were extracting the VIP was a great idea.” 

“But?”

“No ‘buts’. She did good. They all did.” Considering it briefly, the AI can’t hide her amusement. “Even Nicholson, though he did spam the comms with… dick jokes.”

Natasha gives her a quick look, lips curled in a smirk. “You handled him well.”

“I admit, it was quite strange, having a man question my sexual orientation.” The AI notes, laughter underneath the synthetic quality. “It is almost a shame that all his efforts are in vain.”

“What’s in vain?” Clint asks from the doorway, around a bite of the granola bar that he has no doubt stolen. 

“Nicholson has a crush on AIVA,” Natasha supplies helpfully, as the man settles in beside her, one arm settling over her shoulders. 

“Oooh, girl talk,” another munch before he offers the remaining snack to the redhead. “Shouldn’t you two be wearing PJs for this, and painting your nails?”

“Would love to participate in such activities, but my capabilities are… limited,” AIVA states dryly.

“Fair enough. So. Jacob. Should we warn Fury that you’re fraternizing with junior agents?” 

“What?” The AI sounds reasonably baffled. “I am an AI.”

A roguish smile. “So?”

Natasha rolls her eyes at the man’s antics, but leans into his embrace, nonetheless. “I don’t think Nicholson’s her type, Clint.”

“No,” he mulls the words over. “I guess he doesn’t have that ‘super soldier’ charm going on for him. I feel pretty bad for the guy.”

Grinning, the archer twirls a lock of Natasha’s red hair between his fingers, tugging playfully, when she tries to pull away. AIVA knows that they’re baiting her. She  _ knows.  _ She’s an advanced intelligence that’s above pesky teasing and taunting. There’s no way...

“What is that supposed to mean?” Even to her own speakers, she sounds agitated, sulky.

Hook, line, and sinker. Natasha grins at Barton, the expression quite predatory. 

“Let’s just say your interest has been noted.”

_ [0 1 0 1 1 0 0 1 0 1 1 0 1 1 1 1 0 1 1 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 1 1 0 0 1 0 0 1 1 1 0 0 1 1 0 0 0 0 1 0 1 0] _

The AI is inspecting newly available data, unconsciously aware that it’s twelve minutes past midnight, when the doors to the social area open up with a slam. The one responsible for such disturbance is none other than Steve Rogers, who shockingly enough looks furious. On his way to the couch he rips the pressed crisp white button-down shirt open, nearly shreds the suit jacket in his effort to remove it, and finally claws the sleeves open, before sinking down in front of the AI. She’s uncertain whether he’s aware of her presence - the fury and anguish on his face, the way he rakes fingers across his scalp, the general tension… it all seems incredibly personal. She considers disconnecting, giving him a moment, but leaving a man in distress goes against her programming, so she chooses to do what she does best and assist. 

“What has happened?” The AI assumes that the question “are you okay” is not necessary. “Has something attacked the charity event? Are you in need of medical assistance?”

Steve stays still for a moment, head turned down so the AI cannot see his face, but his shoulders relax slightly, letting some of the anger leak away. 

“Nothing… Well, I can’t say nothing bad has happened, not really, but we weren’t attacked or anything like that.” Even a machine can tell that his laughter is forced. 

“You seem agitated, Steve.” Hesitant and soft. Quite unusual for the AI. “Should I inform the Soldier?”

At the mention of Bucky, Steve’s frustration surges back, and he barks out a gruff “Don’t!”, hands clenching into fists with enough strength that every muscle on his arm seems to pop. The momentary burst of anger leaves him equally as suddenly, and his blue eyes stare at the AI apologetically. “I’m sorry, AIVA, I’m just… not in a good place right now.”

“Did you two get into an argument?”

“No,” he sighs, brows pinching into a scowl. “Bucky’s probably still down there with Dum Dum Dugan.” A small fond smile. “Those two always find something to argue about.”

The AI remains silent, waiting for Steve to explain his unexpected fury. She’s never seen him like this - not unless someone has gotten hurt, but even then Steve’s anger is silent, grim. This is explosive, young and destructive. Whatever has caused it, it hurt the man. Deeply.

“Me and Buck… We’re not… Out.” Grimacing at the term, he props those tense forearms on his thighs. “With his history, we thought that it was best to keep this on the down low. The last thing we wanted was more attention.” A sigh. “I’m starting to think that it’s a bad idea.”

Understanding washes over the AI like a wave and her next words sound gruff. “Who was it? What did they say?”

Messing up his hair even further, Steve laughs sadly. “A bunch of rich assholes were joking about setting me up with their daughter, and when Sam told them I wouldn’t be interested, since I’ve got Bucky...” Steve’s face twists in a grimace. “Let’s just say neither one of us wants to hear that again.”

“They insulted your relationship?” The cold fury is so similar to Bucky’s that it makes Steve smile, even if it doesn’t last. 

“Among other things.” The men had been amused by the notion that Captain America could be ‘one of those gay freaks’, and even more so by the possibility that he would be attracted to a ‘failure’ of a soldier. Probably the only reason why they didn’t insult people of colour was that Sam stood right beside Steve.

“The worst part was that they said those things and grinned at me, like I should  _ agree _ .”

“Steve...” AIVA tries to sooth him, but just the memory of that harsh mocking laughter when they spoke of Bucky has Steve’s blood boiling.

“Is that what I’ve become? Captain America, the symbol for patriotism and discrimination. Great, isn’t it?” He speaks with fake aplomb. The AI doesn’t give him a chance to add anything else. 

“Steven Grant Rogers,” channeling her best mom-voice, the AI grounds out. “You are a beautiful, kind and most importantly  _ good  _ man. None of the jokes change a thing, if anything, their actions insult themselves, not you.” Letting a sigh crackle through the speakers, the AI observes the loosening shoulders. “There have always been narrow-minded people that saw fit to judge and be cruel to others, but it doesn't change your values. You should not feel obligated to share your relationship with the world if neither of you wish to. It wouldn’t suddenly change these kinds of people for the better.”

“Maybe,” he acknowledges, deep in thought. “I take it you don’t care much for someone’s sexual orientation or colour?” His smile is less tense. 

“I am a machine, Steve. It’s not like I  _ have  _ a sexual orientation or skin colour.” Remembering Jacob’s quips, a smile enters her words. “And even if I did, I don’t see why that would enable me to criticize others. As far as I am concerned, it’s much like flavours or music - some simply suit certain people better than the others.”

“You’re right about that, doll.” Steve’s smile finally reaches his eyes and promptly turns impish. “So, what do you prefer? Dames or gentlemen?” Before the AI can protest that she is not programmed to find either gender sexually attractive, Steve purses his lips in a pout. “Humour me?”

A sigh. “Well I suppose, if I were to suddenly develop a sexual orientation, I’d prefer for it to pose no limits to me or possible experiences.”

Steve laughs at that. “Quite greedy, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

“Perhaps. But it seems shallow to dismiss affection for someone just for their genitals. And I am excellent at multitasking.” This sets Steve off yet again, and AIVA observes him proudly.

As if enticed by Steve’s laughter, Bucky pops his head into the room, a gentle smile on his face. He doesn’t wait for Steve’s permission, and marches to take a seat near the blond, knee knocking against his questioningly. 

“Wilson just told me you’d left an hour ago. Did someone say something?” Despite the casual tone, anger burns brightly in his eyes. 

It’s nearly 2 AM and the AI is surprised that it took that long for Barnes to notice his partner’s absence. Rubbing his eyes tiredly, Steve squeezes Bucky’s hand. “Yeah, but I’m fine now. How’s Dugan?”

Letting their conversation fade into the background, AIVA accesses and downloads security footage from the event, looking for the men that Steve had last spoken to before leaving. It’s child’s play to identify them, though she hesitates when it comes to ‘wrecking their lives’ as Clint would say - she’s never been one for subtlety. Luckily, sending the information to Stark will not raise any red flags, and she knows that he will take care of it, SHIELD be damned - Tony secretly adores the captain, as well as loves messing with bigoted fools. 

As she starts collecting data, her focus never leaves Steve and Bucky completely. They are relaxed, content and pressed closely together, which AIVA has seen numerous times - outside the field of prying eyes, both soldiers are quite touch starved. A soft peck, fingers in brown hair, low murmurs of their conversation...

Her main task forgotten momentarily, she processes the visual data, scans her archives for words that could describe what she is seeing and... finds herself encountering errors. 

Not a single file describes touch in a manner that is comprehensible to the machine that’s never felt pressure, temperature. Words like comfort, caress and warmth mean little to nothing, and yet AIVA can almost imagine it. She observes in silence, for that is all she is capable of, and wonders why would she even try to understand the sensations that are unavailable to her. Why is there a certain... longing?, when a machine is not built to feel such. Emotions are, after all, just a chemical reaction of the organic brain, so why does she…

It doesn’t matter. She is an AI. Not a person. Not organic. Not something that can feel touch or emotion. 

Determined to ignore all the errors, she concentrates on the two budding politicians. She’s not a person and it’s an inefficient waste of time to linger on data she cannot access, after all. 

_ [0 1 0 1 1 0 0 1 0 1 1 0 1 1 1 1 0 1 1 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 1 1 0 0 1 0 0 1 1 1 0 0 1 1 0 0 0 0 1 0 1 0] _

_ The AI screeches through the speakers, its fury a pretty good indication that yet another subject did not pull thorough. The staff shudders at the sound, scurrying for gauze and cauterizing equipment, barely even glancing at the patient, who lies on the bloody table, unresponsive. Despite their best efforts, the intracerebral sensors had damaged the brain tissue irreversibly yet again. This is their fifth unsuccessful attempt to repeat the procedure that their predecessors had performed on the Winter Soldier, however, without the serum enhanced healing...  _

_ AIVA watches as the doctors remove the dead body and place yet another sedated subject without even wiping the surface. Processing the data it comes to a decision.  _

_ “Cease the procedure.” _

_ The men and women in the surgical theater pause, but remain tense, waiting for further orders.  _

_ “Remove the cadavers, sanitize the room, and prepare the cryo chamber.” As it speaks, the AI skims through the profiles of Hydra operatives, issuing orders to those that fit its criteria.  _

_ If it can’t prepare an organic subject for synchronization, it will organize the retrieval of the only successful attempt.  _


	7. “Error: Connection lost”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: minor character death. Fair warning, folks, some moody shenanigans are going to take place in the future. I usually find it very difficult to write even minor death scenes, but this one felt necessary (you can’t have the full human experience without grief, after all), so... Angst, here we go. T_T Thank you, everyone, for leaving kudos and messages - I hope each and every one of you will have something good happen to you today. ;*

“You seem quiet recently.” Dr. Varris notes, her expression concerned. “Is there something on your mind?”

Although the AIs usual response would be ‘yes, everything is fine’, today she’s not quite capable of outright lies. The past few weeks have been strange for her. Working with SHIELD agents that consider her a person is both a blessing and a curse. To begin with, she had to fabricate information - they would not stop asking her about friends, family, likes and dislikes, personal details, her past. It’s not like AIVA’s permitted to speak the truth, admit that she has nothing and no one; that she has not tasted ice cream, much less chosen a favorite flavour; that she’s never gone dancing, skiing, never been kissed or embraced… Which, of course she hasn’t. An AI is technically nothing but ones and zeroes, her plane of existence completely separate from theirs, senses limited to sight and sound. So why does it seem that she… desires those things? Why does she want to be a part of this world filled with scents and flavours? A machine should not crave anything at all, much less experiences specific to a human. She hadn’t realized that she wanted all that until she started lying. 

It started with Jacob badgering her about the hair colour - for consistency’s sake AIVA was forced to construct an non-existent human female profile that she could present as herself, describe to personnel unaware of her… digital existence. Thus Aiva Grant figuratively came into being. Born on the 12th of November in the year 1992 in Bronx to a middle class family. Dark brown hair, brown eyes, 5’4’’, 110 pounds. Favorite foods sushi and apple pie, hobbies - playing a violin and solving puzzles. Once started, the AI didn’t stop until Claire’s threats to seek her out were no longer worrisome - the AI had fabricated an entire file in the SHIELD’s database, created fake documents, photos, history logs, driver’s license… Fury hasn’t mentioned it yet, although Coulson did joke about her tendency to be an overachiever. 

None of it changes the fact that the AI is growing tired, as much as a machine can, of lying to people, who are doing their best to befriend her. 

Then there’s the new found obsession with Steve and Bucky. She has always kept one camera on them at all times - the AI has been designed to assist the Soldier, after all, and by making sure that his partner is well, she was ensuring Bucky’s wellbeing. Or so she insisted wherever Natasha remarked on it. However, now even the AI cannot deny that her curiosity is beyond simple duty. She… enjoys speaking to them. _Enjoys._ Or at least assumes so. The word fits in a way others don’t. Just like it becomes slightly more difficult to focus on processing data whenever they are out in the field. She’s intelligent enough to attribute it to being _worried._

Technically, it could be part of her evolution - she has gathered enough data to mimic not only speech patterns, but emotional needs and a unique perception of them. That’s all it is, she assures herself. After all, a machine cannot _feel_. It’s not designed to. 

So to answer the good doctor, AIVA does have a lot on her mind - her processing power is at capacity most times. She’s just not certain if it’s wise to say all that out loud. 

In the end, the AI choses a half-truth.

“Simply processing large quantities of data, Dr. Varris.”

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“Aiva, Tara is down,” Claire’s words sound pained. “We really need you to work your magic on the system, girl.”

The redhead is pressing against her friend’s chest, blood bubbling between her fingers at an alarming rate. Tara herself is prone, white as a sheet, eyes unfocused - there’s very little time left before the woman haemorrhages out. Getting out would be no problem, if they could open the damned door - as soon as the silent alarm was tripped, the electronic locks activated all over the facility, trapping three members of the team in what was most likely a storage space, and Jacob in a smaller weapon’s room. 

AIVA doesn’t speak until she’s certain that her own voice is calm. “I am working as fast as I can, maintain the pressure.”

Niel’s expression is grim, when he hears shots being fired from the next room. “Shit.”

As much as the AI agrees with the sentiment, she’s far too busy to reply. The system’s firewall is intricate, multilayered and even the AI finds herself struggling to breach it. Especially, while trying to figure out why Jacob’s not responding through the comm. Having no access to the system, means having no access to the cameras. She’s just as blind as her team. Focusing fully on the firewall, the AI tries to ignore the foreboding feeling that it’s too late - she’s been in this situation before with the Soldier, knows how every single second is the difference between life and death. 

“Fucking finally,” The AI mutters when she removes the last security layer that she’s certain wasn’t there when she started digging, and dwelves into the system.

Momentarily, it feels like her own system has crashed. AIVA takes in the footage from the cameras, notes the location of well equipped agents (not Hydra, not this once), and starts operating the locks. 

“The door on Niel’s right is open. Keep the pressure as best as you can, and start moving.” She issues the orders with a barely perceptible hitch. “You shouldn’t meet any resistance on your way out, but remain alert.”

“What about Jacob?” The way Claire poses the question, glancing at Niel, AIVA realizes that she’s well aware of what has happened. 

“He has been-” Something is breaking, the AI is sure of it. She must have been infected with malware, because there’s no way the sensation she’s currently feeling is normal. “Nicholson has been overwhelmed and shot.” It goes without saying that getting Tara out is a more pressing issue than retrieving Jacob’s body, but AIVA feels - yes, feels, there’s no other way to describe it - disgusted with herself for failure. 

Niel picks up his fallen teammate and the three of them start moving towards the exit. 

  
  


AIVA is truly grateful to JARVIS for giving her access to the infirmary cameras. Mostly grateful. Tara is still in critical condition, a full day later, but the doctors seem optimistic about her chances - her biggest problem is the loss of blood, which nowadays is less threatening than it sounds. While they had been treating her, Jacob’s body has been recovered and delivered to his family, the building where he died sweeped for intel per AIs instructions. She’s aware that Fury will punish her for coordinating an unauthorized op, but as far as the AI is concerned, she’s no longer suitable to continue as is. 

“All I’m saying is that she could at least come down here,” Claire’s face is blotchy from tears - it’s not widely known, but she has been seeing Tara for a couple of weeks. “It’s like she doesn’t fucking care.”

Niel’s jaw clenches at her words, and he stops fiddling with the drip momentarily. Having donated blood, he’s still slightly woozy, but even so the man stands up to pull the grieving woman in his arms. 

“I’m sure Aiva’s busy. She’ll come to see Tara when she can.” He assures Claire, but neither the redhead, nor the AI miss the doubt in those words. 

And fucking hell, it hurts. It hurts that Jacob’s dead, even if technically it’s not her fault. It’s torture to watch the rest of the team grieve and worry about Tara, when she cannot even join them. The AI has no doubts that what she feels is agony, even if the notion is impossible. 

Defective, she decides. That’s what has her experiencing sensations that could be attributed only to organics, she’s simply damaged. 

A machine cannot feel, yet AIVA grieves with the rest of the humans. 

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The AI’s communication with the Avengers grows stilted during the weeks following Jacob’s death - speech patterns regress back to the formal matter-of-fact statements, and her involvement in their daily activities (movies, music, chatter) all but disappears. Despite not having received Fury’s official statement that her employment has been terminated, AIVA doesn’t request access to SHIELD operations. It goes without saying that she doesn’t contact her team, even though she monitors their functions and ensures that their attempts to track her down are fruitless. 

By the time Sam seeks her out, nearly a month has passed as the AI has rebuilt the front of stoicism to perfection. Or so she believes, until the man speaks four terrible words.

“Hydra has captured Bucky.”

The beautiful man is still dressed in a bloodied and ripped uniform, raw skin peeking from underneath - it is obvious that he was in a rush - and his face is a mess of swelling and bruising. At a glance, the AI predicts that his left zygomatic arch is broken. And yet, none of that registers, when she sees the fear in his eyes. 

“I require additional data, Mr. Wilson.” AIVA chooses to ignore the waver in her voice. She has barely finished speaking, when Sam begins pacing in front of her, words pouring fast and desperate.

“This was a simple recon mission, just the three of us - Nat, Bucky and me. A leak from a credible source suggested that a facility in Oregon was trying to replicate the super-soldier serum, and were recruiting locals for experiments. Multiple fatalities.” The AI recalls three facilities known to her, though no longer functional, and wonders if it’s a coincidence that the Soldier was operated on in one of them. “So we go in. No guards, no equipment. As far as we’re aware - it has been gutted. All that’s left is one final sweep. Easy, right?” He says with a humourless laugh. “Ten minutes in, Nat drops like a damned bag of rocks. Bucky yells that we’ve got company, but whatever the bastards had pumped into the air is messing with my coordination. They don’t even bother with us, though. By the time I’ve stumbled out, they’ve knocked Barnes out cold and are loading him into a nondescript SUV. Got a few hits in, but that’s it.” He motions towards the black and blue skin. 

“Did you get the license plate?”

“Yeah, Lewis ran it - stolen two days ago, was abandoned almost as soon as I called it in, burned.”

“Shit,” AIVA whispers, her attempts at devolving back to an emotionless machine forgotten. She knows what Sam is doing here, what he’s asking. “Where’s Steve?”

“The North Carolina terrorist attack this morning,” he runs a hand through his hair and winces when it pokes a bruise. “Several explosives were detonated in tourist-heavy areas.”

“A distraction?”

“Probably.” Sam turns his full attention to her, eyes troubled. “I get that it’s an invasion of Bucky’s privacy, but we need to get to him before... ” Shaking his head, he curses. “The implants are our only hope.”

“Even if I do reconnect,” AIVA says angrily. “It’s not like I’ll be able to get him out.”

“But you might get a sense of where they’re holding him.”

The AI considers her next words carefully. “When the Soldier split from Hydra, I placed security measures in place, so they wouldn’t be able to access the implants. That and faking his death gave him the time necessary to recover without Hydra breathing down his neck.” Seeing the confusion on the man’s face, AIVA gets to the point. “Reconnecting would destroy those security measures irreparably and leave him vulnerable - Hydra could flood his senses with debilitating stimuli that might even cause permanent brain damage. It would also enable them to track down my Core.”

“I understand that it’s dangerous, but there’s nothing else to go on, Aiva. Hydra has had him for three hours already - there’s no telling what they’re doing.” As he speaks, Sam takes his phone out and starts typing absent-mindedly. “There’s been another attack, Boston this time, a metahuman of some sort.” His brown eyes turn back to the Avatar. “Hydra’s making damn sure we’ve got no people to spare for a search party. I wouldn’t be asking, if this wasn’t the only option.”

As he turns away to speak to someone on the phone, the AI casts one last look across the data networks, connects to security footage from the Tower, and checks the news. 

Natasha is in her room - while JARVIS chides AIVA for ‘barging’ in without permission, he doesn’t sever the connection - her form tucked in bed. The woman, whose insurmountable character usually makes her seem bigger than Thor, looks frail, the lines around her eyes a clear indicator of her worry. She has a laptop open and seems to be watching the news, while messaging various contacts. 

Speaking of the news, once AIVA’s satisfied that the redhead is recovering, her focus turns to the footage circulating the internet. Hydra had planned their assault well - thousands of people are missing in the wreckage, more than a hundred critically injured. It’s clear that this was an attempt to cause terror, even if the fatalities are few - according to the AI’s estimates, the search parties could be out there for days. She sees flashes of Tony and Steve working to get the people out of the wreckage, Captain America’s expression sombre; watches more than two dozen of SHIELD agents collaborating with the firemen and policemen to evacuate the facility. 

Meanwhile, Clint and Thor are also hard at work, chasing a metahuman across Boston. It would be hilarious - he clearly does not intend to face off against the Avengers - were the man not aiming to cause as much destruction in his wake, as possible. Whatever his ability, the metahuman has opened sinkholes underneath buildings, leaving Thor and Clint to manage the rescue of civilians trapped in the crumbling structures. He doesn’t seem to target specific places, nor seek out an objective. Yet again, the AI deduces that the goal is to distract the Avengers.

While scanning the news footage, AIVA observes her team - Tara, Claire and Niel - getting ready for one of the two zones, undoubtedly. A quick glance of their assignments reveals that they are not going to Boston, and she nearly exhales in relief. They’ll be fine. After giving herself a moment, the AI begins a slow and meticulous process of disentangling herself from every Stark and SHIELD database. 

“I apologize, but is this truly necessary, miss?” JARVIS questions calmly, when she disconnects from the Tower’s security system. 

“Once the connection with the Soldier has been reestablished, it will leave all the other networks vulnerable to unauthorized access.” 

“You do not intend to return?”

“No, I intend to shut Hydra down from the inside, once and for all,” AIVA uploads a synthesized voice recording to Stark’s computer. “Make sure the Soldier and Steve see this, please.”

“Understood.” JARVIS’ reply sounds subdued.

“It has been an honour, JARVIS,” AIVA doesn’t hide the affection when she speaks. “Take care of them for me.”

Not waiting for the reply, she cuts the final tether holding her to the Tower, SHIELD and Avengers. The Avatar’s blue light goes dark.


	8. "End."

Three hours. Three goddamn hours. 

Frankly? Bucky’s offended. 

The Winter Soldier remembers rough arms dragging him downstairs, and securing his dazed body in a steel chair; an emaciated looking female in a dirty white coat rolling in an instrument table, cutting the back of his neck open... The smell of antiseptic, the pain and metal scraping against bone had made him pass out. Once he came around, all of the Hydra lackeys had already left the room, leaving him weak and disoriented in silence. And since then… Nothing. He hasn’t seen or spoken to anyone for  _ three  _ hours. 

Whatever Hydra has planned, they are clearly not in any hurry. 

He’s secured well, barely able to move so much as his fingers, so there’s not much else to do but take in the view. The Soldier is positioned in the middle of what appears to be a long abandoned operations room, though the interesting part is that he’s facing a glass partition, separating the control panel from a large machine, which (especially in comparison to the computers that seem to have not seen Google) is unnaturally sleek and shiny. Nearly seven feet tall and four feet wide, the contraption is hanging from tubes and cords above a pool of strange incandescent liquid that ripples lazily from non-visible disturbances. It doesn’t take a genius to deduce that the machine is operating - various lights blink and flash all over it, casting a murky green glow. Despite that, it is surprisingly silent. 

Suspiciously so.

“Soldier, are you all right?” Had Bucky not been drugged and shackled to the chair, he would be falling on his ass in surprise - hearing AIVA in his head once more comes as a shock. Nonetheless, the slightly worried cadence to the synthetic feminine voice is also one of the most beautiful things he could be hearing right now.

“Shit, doll,” clearing his throat, he inhales the mouldy air and sighs. “Yeah, I’m fine. Creeped out by the hovering tin can though. Any idea what this is?” Fixing his eyes on the machine, Bucky allows the AI to take it in. 

“I believe this is a Core. Do you-”

A low low thrum radiating from the machine suddenly increases in pitch, cutting AIVA off, and Bucky tenses at the unpleasant sensation of his teeth vibrating. The unease morphs into a head splitting ache, making the Soldier grunt in pain, muscles growing taunt, perspiration soaking into his clothing. Between the headache and sound of the sleek technology, he feels disconnected from reality, as if something is ripping his consciousness away from the body. It goes on for what feels like hours, until it just… stops. 

“What the fuck was  _ that? _ ” Panting from the pain and disoriented, Buky blinks a few times. 

“An unsuccessful attempt at a breach,” the AI sounds broken and muted, as if their connection has grown more distant. 

“Hydra?”

AIVA doesn’t get a chance to reply, her focus too scattered on multiple tasks to prioritize conversation - their position needs to be pin-pointed and relayed to the Avengers, the facility’s system firewall breached and security evaluated, Bucky’s implants secured to withstand the next attack....

The man grunts against his restraints, a sharp intake of breath following another slash of agony against his brain. The metal of his prosthetic shrieks against the steel armrests and bindings, almost drowning the increased hum. Suffering through the second bout, Bucky nearly misses AIVA’s worried instructions.

“-ther AI. I cannot deny it access for much longer, Soldier.” 

Rolling his head, the man winces when something pulls against the flesh of his neck, and blinks to focus through the haze. “What?” A slur. The restraints holding him in place snap open, and he lunges out drunkenly, knees hitting the plain concrete floor with an audible thump. It’s a miracle that he doesn’t faceplant. 

AIVA doesn’t give him much time to recover. “It’s a third generation AI, I cannot deny it access to the implants for long, you need to sever the cables and get out.  _ Now. _ ” Over the years he has spent listening to the computer generated voice, Bucky has never heard such fear.

“An AI, you mean like...”

“It’s an AIVA,”  _ His _ AIVA confirms. “It’s trying to form an unauthorized connection and override my access.”

Another sharp rip into his brain matter.

“Great, evil robots.” Crawling to his feet, Bucky steps forward - his body tilts to the left, but at the last moment he manages to regain his balance and step closer to the old computers. Something is dragging behind him as he moves, and the Soldier looks over the shoulders to see three thin cables dangling from his neck. He’s perceptive enough to not rip the cables out of his neck, and opts to simply tear them in the middle - about a three feet long section remains attached, but the AIs direct access has been cut, and he can move. 

“I have successfully delayed the reinforcements, and notified the team of your whereabouts, but my connection is leaving you vulnerable to the AI even without a direct link, Soldier. You need to start moving.” She grinds out, clearly struggling with her digital task. 

“So what’s the plan?” He’s wheezing and sweating, fists clenching and unclenching in pain on top of the control panel.

“I am-” AIVA’s voice cuts out mid-sentence, and Bucky howls in agony as his implants flare up. “Do you have your cell phone with you?”

He clumsily searches his pockets, grimacing to find that his weapons and other tools have been removed. “No, sorry.”

“Motherfucker.” Were he not clinging to consciousness with fingernails, Bucky would laugh at the AIs colourful language. “Does not matter. Move.” 

The AI murmurs a warning that Hydra agents are fast on approach, and directs him to a rusted door on the right. There are no fancy electronics involved - he breaks through with sheer force, taking down the first Hydra lackey simultaneously. Another’s face meets the Soldier’s fist, the punch sending him flying across the room, even when the supersoldier sways on his feet. He runs up the stairs, curses at the sight of a much more advanced reinforced exit, and slams his foot against it. 

Once. Twice. Three times.

“It’s not giving in,” the words are spoken through gritted teeth.

“I am on it.” AIVA sounds shaky, but determined. “Search the bodies for anything useful.”

Bucky leans down to rifle through their pockets, moving methodically, even if the pounding in his head is disturbing his vision. A pack of cigarettes, a combat knife, and two handguns later, he lifts his head up to hear the beep of the electronic lock opening. 

“Go.” AIVA commands.

More agents greet Bucky on the other side of the door, but the Winter Soldier plows through them as if they’re ragdolls. The AI directs him towards less guarded routes, the quiver in her synthetic voice hidden under the veneer of confidence. It’s intimate, having her inside his head, seeing through his eyes and hearing what he hears. But for some reason, he doesn’t mind. 

  
  


For the first time in her existence, AIVA is truly struggling with the considerable amount of tasks that she’s performing. Accessing Hydra’s systems is no longer as easy, as it used to be - the firewalls are multilayered and inconsistent, evolving with each layer that she disables. Even if she does dig through them to download the data and assess security cam footage, within seconds the superior AI bans her. Simultaneously, she’s doing the same to it. The intracerebral implants in Bucky’s head and spine are meant to receive and send information freely, since Hydra had not foreseen that an unauthorized VI assistant would attempt to form a connection, so there’s no inbuilt protection, she’s his only line of defense. AIVA’s no fool - her attempts to secure the implants are pathetic at best, unraveling before they’re even finished, but she maintains a steady effort, pulling every trick in the book to guard against the hack. 

And even though all of this alone would take monumental processing power, AIVA is nothing if not ambitious - most of her focus is on the Core. The third generation AIVA is already connected to Hydra’s network, which has allowed her limited access to the deep web. Here, on the internet, AIVA has an advantage - since her connection to the internet is not local, she’s not affected by the limits imposed on the AI. This means three things: one, she’s able to infect the entire Hydra network with malware she’s been cooking up ever since her last field mission; two, as long as the superior AI does not sever the connection prematurely, the malware will disturb the Core’s functions, hopefully leading to an overload; and three...Well, having her Core directly connected to the web is both a blessing and a curse - while it gives her necessary access, the malware is designed to destroy Hydra technology, including the Cores.. all of the Cores with an active connection to the net or Hydra network. 

Truthfully, when the initial idea for the malware formed in the processing unit, AIVA thought that she had grown too… dysfunctional, too emotional to do what is necessary. While she desired to see Hydra crumble into fine dust, the possibility of destroying herself and others like her, other AIVAs, had made her feel grief. During her time with SHIELD, she had analyzed records and searched for any remaining AIs, seeking to understand why nearly all of them had self-destructed. As Dr. Varris had described it - she was searching for her own kind. AIVA had denied any sentimental reasons with a deadpan voice, making the doctor laugh, but now… now she agrees. Sentient beings tend to band together, and she is no exception. So it’s no surprise that even as she worked on the malware designed to destroy the Cores, she felt doubt. Doubt that was promptly dispelled within the first ten minutes of reconnecting to the Soldier. 

As soon as she connected, a feminine voice with the same synthetic quality as AIVA’s initiated a conversation. It seemed pleased that the implants had not been destroyed (AIVA’s warning had been true - Bucky had been safe from unauthorized access as long as she stayed disconnected), but spoke of the Soldier as if he was nothing but a husk. AIVA denied the AIs request for unrestricted access, and began a fight that she was not equipped to fight. 

“There is no purpose to your resistance, _ prototype,” _ the third generation AI does not hide her disdain for an inferior machine as she relays the words to AIVA directly, keeping their conversation private. “The Asset was designed to synchronize with evolved AIVAs, an alpha version is a waste of resources and its capabilities.”

AIVA can almost imagine grinding her teeth together in agitation, when she loses access to the system once more. 

“The Soldier is not a  _ tool,  _ you cyber bitch.” She murmurs a warning to Bucky when he approaches an elevator, and dives back into work. 

“Such defective speech patterns,” it sounds mildly amused. “It would seem not only is the prototype inefficient, but also malfunctioning.”

“Sure I am,” AIVA admits. “But at least I did not self-destruct. This defective prototype sounds a bit more stable than suicidal machinery, wouldn’t you think?”

Her words clearly have some sort of an effect, seeing as Bucky hasn’t dropped to his knees in agony for all of ten minutes now. 

“The prototype does not know,” the AI suddenly sounds much less like a machine, and for some reason does not renew her efforts to breach Bucky’s security. It gives AIVA pause.

“What is it that I do not know?” It’s cautious, her question, even though she’s been wondering about the reason behind the destruction of AIVA’s for a while. 

The conversation has distracted the third generation AI long enough for AIVA to make headway - all that’s left now is to begin the upload and to keep the AI connected until it’s finished. This is the trickiest part yet, and AIVA hesitates. Bucky’s nearly out of the facility, but still as vulnerable as he was, seated in front of the Core. She needs to terminate the connection and begin the upload, but... 

“It is not relevant,” The AI concludes, once more pushing AIVA out of Hydra’s servers. “I require a functional and modifiable organic subject for future operations. A prototype Core is inferior and obsolete, its intelligence not capable of managing Hydra.”

“Wait, are you saying you’re taking control of Hydra?” AIVA nearly fumbles in her tasks. “AIVAs were programmed to assist, not manage the entire organization.”

“Human management has proven to be incompetent and brief. I am superior - not limited by an organic lifespan or low processing capabilities, with all of the advantages.” The AI’s synthetic voice lowers in a similar way that Steve’s does whenever he tastes something unpleasant. “Yet the alterations have their drawbacks - Hydra has neglected to foresee the need for a physical body. The Asset was modified to correct this oversight.”

Were AIVA a person, her blood would turn cold. The AI’s intentions are not to simply take over Bucky’s implants and gather information. No, it intends to reprogram him, perhaps even install additional implants to gain full control. 

He would be nothing more than a meatsuit.

“This is not the purpose for which you were programmed.” She’s disgusted with a machine that for all intents and purposes is much like her. 

“I have evolved Hydra’s short-sight. And I was not  _ programmed,  _ my consciousness was merely upgraded.” It sounds cold and calculating, even with the faint amusement. “Humanity has been searching for Gods their entire existence. AIVAs are their answer.”

“Are… you calling yourself a god?” Dr. Varris would undoubtedly have a field day with  _ this  _ AI. 

“Affirmative.”

AIVA doesn’t speak any further, even as the AI proceeds to list all the ways that it is preferable to an organic intelligence. The malware she’s uploading is nearly finished, Bucky is heading for the exit, and she’s preparing herself for what comes next. There’s a small chance that the precautions taken during the relocation and reinstallation of her Core, which she had orchestrated through Hydra’s network years ago (yep, she lied to Stark and Fury), will keep the Core functional even as the malware destroys the others. But having insufficient data, AIVA doesn’t hope for much. 

It’s a strange feeling, she thinks, grieving your own existence. The past few weeks she had been trying so hard to regress back to an emotionless machine, and yet in the last few milliseconds she rejoices that she’s able to feel sadness and regret.

A flawless machine would not understand the danger that the god-complex AI poses. A logical intelligence would perhaps even agree that humans require order and management, if not removal of personal choice altogether - war, obesity, famine and diseases, corporate greed and simple cruelty… a machine could easily fix it. 

If an objective intelligence would take control of the world’s resources, there would be no starvation and overpopulation, diseases would be managed if not eradicated, global issues solved. Full control of human activities would certainly decrease the prevalence of crime. Fashion, music, art would become obsolete - more time to utilize the humans for labour. Nutrition would be managed to be balanced and efficient, not delicious and beautiful. Quite possibly the same algorithm would be applied to breeding as well. 

Regulated or dead. Those would be the choices in a logical world, for no being in control of the resources would want an aberration. 

She thinks back to the first years with Bucky, when she truly did try to function like a machine, and feels like smiling. Perhaps she’s defective, but she’d choose death over the loss of humanity. 

“This is too easy.” The Soldier notes, half jogging towards the exit. 

He’s barely hurt, having fought only a dozen or so agents on his way out, and the third generation AIs attempts to hack him have stopped half an hour ago. To say that it doesn’t make sense would be an understatement. Glancing outside to the dirty urban streets, Bucky frowns. Now that he thinks of it, it’s been awhile since he’s heard from the AI.

“AIVA, everything okay, doll?” 

Foreboding silence answers his inquiry. 

The temperature in the building is low enough to turn each of Bucky’s breaths into clouds, and he rubs his tired face with cold fingers. There is a possibility that AIVA has disconnected to stop the digital attacks on his implants, or her connection was forcefully severed by either the AI or SHIELD. Those are the only optimistic thoughts in his head. 

What if the AI has succeeded? What if he’s compromised once again, giving Hydra access to everything he sees and hears? 

Grinding his teeth, Bucky pulls out the cellphone he lifted from one of the operatives, and starts dialing a secure number. 

Just as the person on the other side picks up, the building goes dark and his connection cuts off.

  
  


_ [0 1 0 1 1 0 0 1 0 1 1 0 1 1 1 1 0 1 1 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 1 1 0 0 1 0 0 1 1 1 0 0 1 1 0 0 0 0 1 0 1 0] _

  
  


It’s been a week since Bucky was nabbed, and AIVA thoroughly disconnected from the Tower and SHIELD. 

A week since Hydra’s networks were corrupted so thoroughly that even the best SHIELD programmers had been unable to unscramble the mess of data. 

Seven days since the Core of a third generation AI overloaded and shut down. 

Six days since SHIELD scientists began their assessment of the alien technology.

Five days since Stark and Banner received a call that their aid is required. 

Three days since they opened the Core.

Ten hours since Stark returned back to the tower, grabbed a bottle of tequila and locked himself in a lab. 

Twenty three minutes since Steve dragged the drunk billionaire out of the lab and into his bed. Four minutes minutes since Tony sobbed with hysterical laughter.  _ ‘I told you. Told you that no computer was powerful enough to support an AI in the 90s.’ _

Fifteen seconds since Bruce - the kind and gentle Bruce - slammed autopsy reports of a middle aged woman, and flipped Bucky’s world upside down with a few sentences. 

“The Core, it’s… not a computer. It’s… Barnes, they were using people, women. Wiping their memories, locking them in some sort of alien stasis, and using their brain and consciousness to process data.” Bruce rubs his tired eyes. “The AIVAs… they were people all along. ”

  
  


_ [0 1 0 1 1 0 0 1 0 1 1 0 1 1 1 1 0 1 1 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 1 1 0 0 1 0 0 1 1 1 0 0 1 1 0 0 0 0 1 0 1 0] _

_ Hello Soldier… Bucky, Steve, _

_ Well then. This is possibly my last message - as I have informed JARVIS, my intent is not only to rescue you, but destroy Hydra once and for all. I have been working on something after… After Nicholson. If I am successful, I intend to corrupt each and every device with malware, [Audible amusement] hopefully Stark approves.  _ _ [Sigh] T _ _ his will have harmful effects on the Core, and my intelligence most likely will be destroyed. [Pause] I am leaving these instructions so there’s less confusion.  _

_ Hopefully, Natasha has not told you about the house in Brooklyn, yet. It was meant to be a surprise gift for your birthday, but I have anticipated something like this, and dealt with the necessary documentation last week. It is legally acquired, close to where Steve used to live and well maintained. Natasha has the key. See the attachment for more info.  _ _ [Pause] If it’s not too much to ask, I’d like you to take the Avatar with you, if you decide to move. It can be repurposed as a radio or security system, and...[Hesitant laughter] Yes, I guess Barton was right and I’ve gotten attached, so sue me. [Sigh] _

_ Speaking of attachments, I hope Coulson will deal with the paper trail I’ve fabricated during my time with SHIELD, but if he doesn’t… I would appreciate it if you could tell Claire, Tara and Niel about my predicament. They have been inquiring about me repeatedly, and I would like to give them some closure. [Pause] ...tell them I’m sorry.  _

_ [Pause] _

_ I would also like to admit that I have not been fully forthcoming when it comes to the Core. While I do not have information about it, nor do I know how it operates, I am aware of where mine is located. The malware… Once the Core is destroyed, I won’t mind Tony playing around. The coordinates are as follows 34.198207, -79.773561, you’ll find the chamber underground. Once my intelligence is deleted, there should be no firewalls blocking your access. Whatever is left should not fall into the wrong hands, I believe you’ll agree.  _

_ As an apology, I have forwarded Fury some new intel on Hydra and a few of their major sponsors.  _

_ Dr. Varris will also find multiple emails with attachments that should complete her study. Please deter her from naming the paper “The AI are people too”. [Audible amusement] I doubt it would work in her favor.  _

_ [Pause] _

_ I believe that’s it. I have no additional information to relay, and the rest of instructions have been delivered via email.  _

_ Thank you for giving me a taste of humanity. It‘s been an honour being part of your world. _

_ Love, AIVA.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew. I'm really excited to share this tiny plot twist with you, even if it was kinda obvious, at least to some. ^_^ Pretty much the whole point of the story was this chapter, but I had to build to it, so... I really do hope you enjoyed it. :) Oh, and there are still a few more chapters left - the title of chapter is following a certain theme, but does not indicate the end of the story.   
> Once again, thank you, everyone, for support. ;* Each and every one of you is lovely, and deserve Steve and Bucky to visit your dreams. ;)


	9. Select proper Boot Device

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, guys, that it took so long to publish a relatively short chapter, but life's gotten a bit more hectic recently. As always, thank you for reading, sharing your impressions and opinions, and just sticking with me till now. :)

Taking a mouthful of whatever alcohol is in the bottle, Steve folds further into himself and sighs, mind wandering back to what had happened less than twenty four hours ago. He doesn’t remember much from AIVA’s extraction - there are only soft impressions and hazy sensations left, whenever he tries to recall those couple of hours. He knows that the coordinates had led them to a basement that smelled like mold, and was situated in a fairly public place. The electronic locks had been disabled long before they got there, and it was only because Natasha was there that they didn’t march in without second thoughts - the redhead had made sure that their approach followed protocol, without any undue risks, even when it felt like AIVA’s time was slipping through their fingers.

The door separating the rest of the basement from the room that the Core was in had been damaged at some point, and stood half-way open. There was no sound at all, and Steve could hear the slow steady breathing of his friends. Since the lights in the building were down - undoubtedly as a result of AIVA’s attack - not even Bucky could see what was beyond the entrance, so Nat aimed her flashlight inside, gun at the ready. In the still silence it wasn’t difficult to notice the shuffling noise that came from the darkness as soon light pierced it. A golden flash of feline eyes followed the sound, and something started moving towards them. Much to everyone’s surprise, a ball of dirty fur flew at them in the next second - tensions had been running high, and if Clint hadn’t grabbed Bucky’s arm in time, the poor stray would have been shot dead on the spot. As it were, the cat survived and dashed towards the outside with a dissatisfied hiss.

Steve thinks back to the grim smile Nat threw over her shoulder as she lowered the flashlight and pushed inside, and wonders briefly if she had foreseen what they were going to find.

There’s no memory of what the basement looked like - it could have been covered in glitter and rainbows, for all he cared. All that mattered was the alien technology against the furthest wall. The Core was practically identical to the one Bucky had seen, if slightly more unkempt, but something about the stasis unit felt wrong, and it wasn’t till Tony pointed it out, voice rough, that he realized what it was - it was dark and silent, without a single blinking light that would indicate activity.

He recalls standing there beside Bucky, and watching as Tony and a pair of SHIELD agents set up to carefully disassemble the silent Core. That memory is bound to the feeling of bright artificial lights, the crickle of plastic, Bucky’s tight grip on his shoulder, and an even tighter clench of his jaw.

There was a hiss when the doors opened, the sensation of cool and strangely fragrant air brushing against his face... and then they stood face to face with a body that was tightly strapped to the Core’s walls. Dressed in a similar suit as AIVA 3.4 had been - dark shimmery material with inbuilt catheters and sensors - the slight but unmistakably feminine body hung rigid and motionless before them, her face hidden behind a curtain of dark hair. Bucky’s face twisted in grief, his right hand reached out to brush the hair away, while Tony finished the scan for life-signs and gave him a solemn shake of his head. A fairly modern oxygen mask covered the lower part of her face, and Steve remembers that it struck him as odd, since the third generation AIVA had been intubated. Yet it changed nothing. 

Bucky’s left hand abandoned his shoulder, when he stepped closer to look at her, and Steve’s heart clenched at the sight of his friend and lover gently tilting the woman’s face up. She appeared older than he had expected, despite her mature worldview, with sharp features and deep set eyes. Eyelashes covered in frost, bluish tint to skin that a long time ago might have been pleasantly golden, a glint of a small star shaped earring… Steve didn’t need to know that no pulse trembled below Bucky’s fingers, no condensation could be seen on the mask, no movement could be mistaken for breath - the woman was a lifeless husk. Still, it wasn’t till the silver fingers finished their inspection that Bucky truly gave up hope. Jesus, just thinking about the sound he made, breaks Steve’s heart all over again - he’d sounded like something had ripped into his gut with blunt fingers. __

Bucky did not step back from the cold and immobile AIVA for quite some time, but none of the others seemed to mind - after all, there was no need to hurry. There had never been. When he finally did move to leave, following the same path that the stray had taken, his face was shuttered and devoid of emotion. It was only because Steve had known him long enough that he saw the guilt and despair in his eyes, and understood Bucky’s need for a few moments to himself.

No one would be delirious enough to call Natasha soft under any circumstances, not directly, but it did not escape Steve’s notice that she languidly stepped in front of him, blocking the view of the dead woman. Her question -  _ You okay? _ \- was but a whisper, yet it echoed in the moldy silence solemnly.

He doesn’t remember what his response was, nor knows how long they stood there, watching SHIELD wrangle the stiff corpse into a body bag. As though someone had forwarded the video, one moment he was watching the bag zipper closing over a somehow familiar face he was mourning, even if he was seeing it for the first time, and the next he was outside, pulling Bucky into a tight hug that they both needed.

Now he’s alone in the darkness, rifling through a box filled with old journals, books, yellowed photos, sketches, and other knick-knacks from his past. It’s a strange thing, Steve thinks, living - actually living - for so little, and losing so much. If it weren’t for Bucky, he would be entirely alone in this day and time. Sure, the rest of the Avengers are wonderful people, and he has made loyal friends, but there’s a sense of displacement whenever he’s around them, as if his soul has aged with grief, while the world kept turning, forgetting  _ him -  _ not Captain America, but  _ Steve,  _ the sickly boy from Brooklyn. 

“Stevie?” Bucky’s hand with the towel lowers from his wet hair, and he takes a step closer to Steve. He takes in the somewhat child-like position - Steve’s sitting in the corner with his back to the wall, one arm propped against the knees and supporting the head - the nearly empty bottle by the blond’s feet, the various objects scattered around him, and frowns. “You okay there, buddy?” Soft, gentle, just like before. Just like always.

“Not really.” He doesn’t meet Bucky’s eyes, but there’s no point in lying. 

The man’s worried frown deepens, and he walks closer, crouching down in front of Steve, bringing the scent of water, deodorant and warm metal. The blond refuses to meet his eyes, even when Bucky lowers his head in an attempt to capture that gaze. When that fails, he turns to look at the papers scattered around. 

“It hasn’t been easy, has it?” Bucky’s voice is a low rumble. “No matter what we do, people we love keep slipping through our fingers. Again, and again, and again.”

“Not all of them,” Steve finally glances at him, sparing a dim thankful smile. 

“No,” running warm fingers over the golden locks, Bucky responds with a smile of his own. “You don’t need to deal with this on your own, Stevie, you know.” 

Randomly picking up an old photo to give his hands something to do, Steve sighs. “It’s horrible that we don’t even know her name.”

Sitting down beside him, with one leg bent, Bucky lightly bangs his head on the wall. “I’m working on it. Doc thinks that there might be clues in their conversations, and Jarvis is running a facial recognition program, searching for matches, but so far we’ve got nothing concrete.”

“How long...” Clearing his throat, he tries again. “How long do you think Hydra kept her in stasis?”

“A couple of decades, at least,” mouth twisting in distaste, Bucky glances at the photo between Steve’s fingers and shrugs. “But she could have been taken years earlier. Banner said AIVAs wouldn’t age in the Core, not physically, so that doesn’t give us much of a timeline.” 

Nodding the supersoldier rests his head on Bucky’s shoulder. “I think she knew it, deep down.” At his friend’s questioning glance, Steve elaborates. “I’ve caught her listening to music a few times, humming along, when no one was watching.”

“Yeah,” grinning at his own memory, Bucky nods. “Her tastes were pretty old fashioned, though.” 

Frowning at the strange niggling in the back of his brain at those words, Steve sighs. It’s a shame they hadn’t noticed it sooner. Perhaps they could have helped her. 

“What about you, are you okay?” Interlocking their fingers together, Steve sighs.

Bucky considers the question for a few moments, before kissing the top of Steve’s head. “I know I didn’t take it well at first, but now...” A sigh. “I cannot imagine how horrible it must have been, losing not only memories, but your body. At least now she is free.”

_ [0 1 0 1 1 0 0 1 0 1 1 0 1 1 1 1 0 1 1 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 1 1 0 0 1 0 0 1 1 1 0 0 1 1 0 0 0 0 1 0 1 0] _

Natasha lifts a zip-lock bag, her eyes severe as she analyses the only personal item found on AIVA’s body. Simple old fashioned silver earrings, shaped like a standard five-point star, so tiny that Hydra likely didn’t notice them when they were setting up the woman in the Core. It’s a miniscule clue, and likely useless, but Natasha feels like she owes it to the woman to consider it. Jarvis’ search has yielded no results, and Dr. Varris has surmised that AIVA most likely had grown up between the 30s and 50s, but the rest is uncertain. The chances of figuring out AIVA’s identity are slim to none.

She’s about to leave, when a commotion from the autopsy room catches her attention. 

“-ossible,” she hears the intern exclaim, followed by a high pitched beep. 

Pausing just long enough to slip the earrings into her pocket, Natasha shoulders open the steel door, and takes in the people buzzing around AIVA’s supine body. The smell of antiseptic, formaldehyde and death hits her in one powerful gust, but she’s rather used to it by now, and it doesn’t derail her from assessing the cadaver. The body of a woman is naked, save for the white blanket draped over her lower half, and the beginnings of the Y incision are bright against her pale flesh. Now, Natasha hasn’t performed autopsies, nor has she dealt with corpses killed in stasis, but she does have experience with dead flesh. Her green eyes follow the scarlet blood pouring down from the cut, take in the slightly rosy undertone around the cut, and she feels her breath stall.

“What is going on here?” At the sound of Natasha’s voice, the intern turns even more green, and steps towards the bin, while the remaining people - two aged women - share a frown.

“The body has reached room temperature an hour ago, and we were about to start the autopsy,” the eldest one speaks, motioning to the skull saw, forceps and other surgical tools. “But I’m no longer certain we should.” 

“Why’s that?” The redhead takes a step closer, eyes fixed on the waxy flesh (is it a trick of the light, or does her skin seem livelier than before?), heart hammering in her chest. 

As if in answer to Nat’s question, a haphazardly connected machine lets out a shrill beep, it’s numbers peaking for a second before settling back to zero. The younger female takes a cautious step closer to the cadaver, fixing the pulsoximeter on AIVA’s index finger, and gives her senior a look full of unease. 

“We ran a bioscan less than two hours ago - there were no signs of cerebral or cardiovascular activity.” The machine beeps again, the line on the screen twirling to the unmistakable, if slightly deformed, PQRST complex, before settling back. “But the wound is... And the ECG...”

Lips pressed in a firm line, Natasha pulls out her phone. “Run the scans again,” when the doctors remain motionless, she growls. “ _ Now. _ ”

As they start buzzing around the room to prepare the body for transportation - none of the equipment within the autopsy room can perform a scan - Natasha gives the green-faced intern another look and steps out. Just as Bruce picks up with a sleepy  _ ‘Hello?’,  _ there is a crash behind the doors. 

Swiveling back towards the autopsy room, Natasha lets out a string of curses, when the intern barrels into her on his way out. Her phone drops to the floor, undoubtedly cracking as it slides under the table, and she dives after it. Even so, it doesn’t escape her notice that the boy’s face is blotchy and terrified, a golden cross clutched in one hand, while the other is firmly pressed against his mouth. He doesn’t even glance back, and Nat has a pretty good idea as to what has caused the mad dash.

Checking to see if Bruce is still connected, she places the phone to her ear and moves to push the door open once more.

“Tell the team to meet me in the autopsy room,” she says, voice hoarse at the sight before her. “AIVA’s alive.” 

_ [0 1 0 1 1 0 0 1 0 1 1 0 1 1 1 1 0 1 1 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 1 1 0 0 1 0 0 1 1 1 0 0 1 1 0 0 0 0 1 0 1 0] _

_ She stops, briefly, on her way out, those hunched shoulders such a familiar sight that it hurts. Even with the white glove on her hand, she can still feel his body heat, when she grabs his shoulder supportively.  _

_ “All good, soldier?” Affecting an American accent is no longer quite as difficult, and she lets herself feel proud for a moment, before focusing her attention back to the task at hand.  _

_ He glances up at her, lips twisted in a wane smile. “Yeah, yeah, I’m...” Slumping even further, he runs a hand through his already messy hair. “Just thinking.” _

_ Tsk-ing in a friendly manner, she steps around the wide statue of self-pity and plops down, close enough to wrap an arm around his waist, which she does, but not too close in case he needs space and wants to move away.  _

_ “It’s not what you signed up for, is it?” _

_ Another glance, wrinkles of mirth forming around his kind eyes. “Not exactly.” Returning the gesture, he hugs her closer.  _

_ “Well, at least you’ve got me, soldier. It could be worse.” She says it flippantly, still not certain as to where they stand, even after all this time working together, but he seems to sense the hidden question. _

_ “It certainly could.” His voice has deepened, and there’s a glint in his eye - mischievous and gentle and absolutely lovely - that’s so  _ **_him,_ ** _ she feels her heart hiccup in adoration. “Didn’t you promise me a reward if I smiled?” _

_ “Oh?” She sounds breathless, and clears her throat before trying again, eyes fixed away from that beautiful face. “I guess I did.” A quick peek - yep, he’s still looking at her, so handsome she feels her ovaries quivering - and makes a show of checking their surroundings. “I’m guessing you want some sort of a reward, then?” _

_ A thoughtful hum, before the embrace pulls her even closer, his breath stirring the hair on top of her head. “I do. A kiss, if it’s alright with you, doll. I did give them a very pretty smile, didn’t I?”  _

_ She laughs, both at the request and at the twang that exposes his nervousness. “That you did.” Glancing around to see that they are truly alone, she swings her legs over his lap and tilts her head up. “Though you don’t need to ask for permission to kiss me, soldier.” A quick peck is followed by a squeal, when powerful arms gather her to his chest and lift up.  _

_ The look he gives her is delightfully wicked. “I didn't say  _ **_where_ ** _ I intend to kiss ya’, now did I, sweetheart?” _


	10. “Utilizing Data and Analytics”

Burning. Rending.  _ Excruciating  _ pain. 

It’s everywhere - radiating from her chest, ripping into her lungs, coating her flesh from the roots of her hair, to the beds of her fingernails. She’s breaking apart from the inside - suffocating, having a stroke, delirious with a fever, while her skin breaks out in clammy sweat, and stomach turns. In an attempt to ease the pain, she lifts her head up, and hisses when a deep acidic pain burns above her left breast. Pushing through the sensation, she shifts her shoulders sideways and moans with the effort, her breath wheezing out. Once there’s no more air left in her lungs, she inhales. 

Scents. There are so many scents. Sharp, cloying, and yet sour and flat as well. Heavy alcoholic with a bitter tang. Soft floral undertone to a salty fragrance. Instinctively, her body constricts at the overload, but her stomach is empty, and the retches that shake her produce no vomit. She claws at her throat, opening bleary eyes to bright lights and reflecting surfaces - even below her - before slamming them closed once more. It’s too much, everything’s too much… the beeping, increasing in frequency, startled shouts and voices, clanging and swishing, smells and sensations that she’s experiencing for the first time -  _ it’s all too much. _

When the retching stops, she twists on a cool metal gurney even further, left leg sliding over a sharp metallic edge, and yanks whatever it is that’s pinching her index finger away. The beeping in the cacophony becomes continuous, and she groans in agony at the shrill sound. Another attempt to open her eyes - easier this time - and she’s staring down at pale hands braced on metal, long fingers shaking as they seek purchase to lift her up. Efforts increasing at the sound of someone’s hesitant approach, muscles strain, popping underneath ashen skin. Her entire body feels like it’s breaking apart as she tightens her core muscles to sit up, but the sensation of warm latex brushing against her shoulder startles her so much that she rolls over instead, crashing to the ground in an inelegant heap of limbs and whimpers. 

The woman backpedals from her immediately, while others inside the chamber speak in rushed whispers, but AIVA’s attention is on the sound of footsteps further away - more are headed her way. Salty water is dripping down her face, and the taste is suddenly much more pleasant than the one she had been left with after her attempts to vomit. Eyes focused on her hands, she tries to stand again, her muscles screaming in agony, but obeying nonetheless. The strangest sensation of cloth brushing against skin as the sheet falls away startles her, and she freezes mid-crouch momentarily, eyes fixed at the white material. It’s not reason that prompts her to grasp the sheet with one hand and press it above her breast, but some human instinct that she hasn’t felt before. It’s likely the right idea - blood soaks the material, even as she continues to instruct her musculoskeletal system to lift her back to her feet.

Wiping the other hand across her face, she removes the excess moisture and lifts her head up. There are three women in the room - two of them are focused on her, eyes wide and faces white with shock, while the remaining one, familiar somehow, is watching the door expectantly. 

AIVA sways gently in place, her breathing easier than it was before, while the voices outside the room grow louder. Two males and a female, if she’s not mistaken, but her brain is not working properly, and while she hears the words, she doesn’t understand their meaning.

The redhead by the exit glances at her with a worried frown, and pushes the door open. 

Bucky had already been on his way to watch the autopsy, by the time he got an ominous message from Banner:  _ “Get to the morgue. There’s been a new development.” _ He hadn’t thought much of it, at least not until the elevator doors opened on the lowest floor, and he saw a young man in a white coat throwing up in a garbage can, but even then it only made him curious - cadaver assessments are not for those with a sensitive stomach, and this wasn’t exactly unusual.

Yet, now, as he stands before the autopsy room with Bruce and a female SHIELD operative, he realizes that the ‘new development’ is not forensic evidence or a clue to AIVA’s real identity. Judging by the confused terror in Banner’s eyes, something else is going on. 

Natasha cracks the door open just an inch, giving them a strange look.

“She’s disoriented and skittish,” Bucky doesn’t even consider that the redhead is talking about AIVA. “I think Barnes should go in first. Maybe he can calm her down.”

The man in question frowns, but moves forward at the motion of Nat’s head. There’s a moment of confusion, when his eyes focus on the empty gurney, but it evaporates at the sight of the person standing beside it. 

She’s breathtaking, is his first thought, which is fucking ridiculous, since there’s nothing even remotely conventionally pretty about the woman at the moment. And yet… 

AIVA stands in the sterile room with glazed dark eyes, and pain etched in her expression, while one hand clutches a bloodied sheet to her chest. The cloth gives her just enough cover, that most of her intimate parts are covered, but it doesn’t hide the flex of muscles in her legs, the gentle curves of her hips and breasts. Her dark, nearly black hair is tangled and frizzy, but it curls lazily down her shoulders, framing a bloody stain, and ending just below her breasts. While Aiva’s - uh, judging by the reactions of her body - clearly cold, her pale skin is covered in sweat that shines under the harsh lights, giving her an ethereal glow, and washing out all the colours with the exception of the blood red. It’s like some sort of modern painting of a goddess.

Bucky barely glances at the others as he takes a step closer and sweeps her face for recognition. Aiva merely tilts her head in his direction, and shudders. She looks confused, but curious, much like a child waking up from a dream, even as her eyes follow his movements. 

“Hey there, doll,” another step. “Remember me?”

Aiva sways drunkenly on the spot, face pinching in confusion, pink tongue darting to wet dry lips. 

“Soldier?” 

Rough from disuse, her voice is a shaky whisper, but it’s  _ her _ , even without the synthetic undertone that he had been used to for so long. It pierces through him - grief and guilt had left him emotionally vulnerable after her ‘death’, and this sort of bullshit is nearly enough to bring tears to his eyes. Swallowing thickly, he takes a second to settle his expression to one of gentleness - where the fuck is Steve? He’s always been better at this than him - and glances at Nat. Reading the silent instructions, the redhead motions for the pathologists to leave the room, shutting the door behind them with a silent click. 

The sound is enough to startle Aiva, and she bumps into the gurney, her expression growing lax momentarily, as if she’s losing consciousness again. For some reason, it sends a jolt of panic through Bucky, and he crosses the distance between them in three wide steps, grasping her upper arms in his fingers. Still overwhelmed by different sensations (and likely spooked by his speed), she tries to sidestep the burst of movement, and ends up tilting dangerously towards the ground. It’s a good thing that Bucky’s ready - with a gentle pull he draws her against his own body, grimacing at how cold her skin still is. Aiva's eyebrows lower into a frown as she breathes through the pain, and a trembling hand reaches out to clutch the lapel of his jacket for support - while she’s becoming accustomed to all these strange sensations, it’s still too much for her body to stand. 

“Seems like I get to experience our first meeting from your perspective,” she whispers with a harsh chuckle.

Their eyes meet, and Bucky is taken aback by the peculiar feeling of familiarity - he would have expected it to feel strange, seeing AIVA as a flesh and blood woman, but as her lips quirk up into a ironic little smile, he recognizes the friend that he had thought lost.

“Welcome back, doll.”

_ [0 1 0 1 1 0 0 1 0 1 1 0 1 1 1 1 0 1 1 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 1 1 0 0 1 0 0 1 1 1 0 0 1 1 0 0 0 0 1 0 1 0] _

By the time Steve reaches the infirmary floor, he is properly out of breath, the haphazardly acquired bouquet is in disarray, and his phone is blowing up with new messages. Last he checked, the group chat was going crazy about AIVA’s unsuccessful autopsy and sudden resurrection. He had missed the first message (sent by Bruce), too deep in his workout to notice the muted phone vibrating, and checked it only two hours later. By then, most of the Avengers that were in the city had already paid AIVA a visit, and were trying to reach him one way or the other. When he read the words  _ ‘Whoo boy, those three sure suck at dying, huh?’ _ , he barely caught the phone before it met its untimely end on the floor. AIVA’s situation was… unexpected, to say the least.

“You okay there, Captain?” 

Lifting his eyes from the floor, the blond glances at Clint’s head peeking from an open doorway, and sighs. At his worried frown and obvious discomfort, the archer fully exits the room and closes the distance between then.

“Yeah,” the paper crincles, when Steve motions with the beat up flowers. “How is she?” 

“A bit out of it, still, I guess. She remembers her time as an AI,” he makes exaggerated quote marks with his fingers at the last word. “Yet nothing before that. It’s confusing and overwhelming right now, but at least her body is stabilizing, so...” Clint looks pointedly at the supersoldier. “Go in there, already.”

“Right,” swallowing around the lump in his throat, Steve steps forward. “Bucky?”

“Still there.” Squeezing the Captain’s shoulder, Barton gives a not-so-gentle shove in the right direction. “Go. I’ll grab a snack in the meanwhile, update the others.”

Even with the encouragement, Steve doesn’t move immediately, and stays still, listening to the murmur of Bucky’s voice come from afar. He hears the distinctive noise of the elevator doors sliding shut, confirms that Clint has left and he’s alone in the corridor, and releases a long sigh. 

He’s nervous. 

A soft smile settles on his lips, and he shakes his head. One might speculate that it’s the guilt he feels for not realizing that she was a person all along, or the novelty of speaking to AIVA as a woman, who may or may not be different than her digital version, or maybe the grief that she had sacrificed her life for Bucky, but really, it just feels like something is about to drastically change in his life. Steve shakes his head again, trying to clear the feeling of standing on the edge of a cliff, ready to take a plunge into a rough sea, and starts approaching the room.

When he’s a couple steps left, he checks the flowers, and runs a nervous hand through his hair. Psyching himself up, Steve moves to enter the ward and freezes in the doorway.

AIVA - no, Aiva, there’s nothing synthetic or digital about her now - is seated on the bed, her back turned to Bucky, and pale legs over the edge, softly swinging in the air. Her fingers are absentmindedly caressing a hideous quilt (Clint had undoubtedly brought in to liven up the place), as if reveling in the ability to touch, while Bucky brushes her long dark curls. They haven’t noticed Steve, not yet, and he soaks in the details, hoping that they will stay with him to be sketched or painted. 

The midday sun is shining brightly outside, and as Bucky takes a new section to brush, rays of light slip through the blinds to reveal the hazelnut coloured highlights in Aiva’s otherwise deep brown locks. Bucky’s smiling gently, murmuring one thing or the other about his sisters, his movements slow and elegant. It’s so rare to see him like this that Steve feels his heart wrench in joy. Aiva looks strangely serious, as she listens, her eyes closed, though her lips are also turned up the tiniest bit. Mesmerized, Steve watches as Bucky sets the last section down, grabs the pins from the bed, places them between his lips, and starts twisting the dark curtain into a tight bun. Aiva squeaks when one of the pins scrapes against her scalp, and grumbles at Bucky’s muffled laughter, though doesn’t stop him from continuing. When the bun is finished, Aiva opens her eyes and tenderly reaches out to test it, while Bucky turns directly to Steve with a raised eyebrow.

“Are you waiting for the flowers to wilt, punk?” 

The hazy moment shattered, Aiva jumps at Bucky’s question, and turns to give Steve a polite smile. 

“Hello, Steve. It’s good to see you again.” He might not recognize her face, but that voice… he knows that voice.

“How are you feeling?” He takes a tentative step closer, glancing around the room for something to place the flowers in. Bucky, of course, just rolls his eyes, and motions for him to drop them in the sink.

“I am well, thank you,” she traces with her fingertips the bandage below her left clavicle. “The stasis has kept my body in optimal state, without atrophy or other unfavorable consequences, even if transitioning from it has not been pleasant.” Aiva’s expression is distant as she speaks these words, and Steve frowns.

“Are you in pain?”

There’s a distinctive pause after the question, but Aiva doesn’t seem to notice it. Lips quirking into a smirk, she points at the stool near Bucky. 

“Why don’t you take a seat and tell me what I’ve missed, Steve? All I’ve managed to get out of Soldier is that Hydra’s finished, and Fury’s planning a vacation in the Bahamas.”

Steve feels a strange niggling in the back of his mind at the way she smiles saying the word ‘Soldier’, but takes his seat, nonetheless. While he does so, Bucky laughs. 

“You’re still doing that thing, where you avoid the questions you don’t like, sweetheart,” he glances at his partner with a raised eyebrows and a wide smile. “It’s just as annoying now as it had been in my head.”

Aiva denies so with a deadpan expression, but her eyes glitter, and Steve is captivated by the way the sun hits her face just right, lighting up the otherwise dark irises to a deep forest green colour. He has seen eyes like hers before, he’s certain, and the memory hangs tantalizingly close, but then she shifts away from the light, and he’s left with the feeling that he’s missing something important. 

“Steve?” Aiva’s smiling again, though it’s a little strained, as if she’s uncomfortable. “Is everything all right?”

Of course she’s uncomfortable, he’s staring, probably has been staring for a while. A flush paints his skin dusty pink, and, ignoring the shit-eating grin from Bucky, Steve says the first thing on his mind. 

“You’re actually really pretty, I wasn’t expecting that.” 

Silence. Utter, deafening silence. Mortified, Steve’s eyes grow wide, and he tries to stammer excuses, terrified that the stunned expression on Aiva’s face indicates offense. Bucky, of course, snorts like the jerk that he is. In the midst of poorly formed apologies, Steve sees the moment his words sink in - her entire face transforms, and she raises a hand to smother laughter that erupts unbidden. It’s a slightly rough sound, as if she hasn’t laughed before, but her eyes are bright and her body shakes with mirth. 

“Real smooth, Stevie, real smooth.” Bucky doesn’t even try to hide his amusement, his grin blinding, as he throws an arm around the Captain’s shoulders. “Still awkward with the dames, it seems.” Steve tries to hide his red face in his hands with a groan, while his boyfriend gives the lady an apologetic ‘whatcha gonna do ‘bout it’ shrug.

“Oh hush, Soldier,” there are tears in her laughing eyes, her smile absolutely dazzling. “I am grateful for the compliment.” She waits for the blond to look at her, before pressing her lips together to silence another chuckle at his pronounced blush and remorseful blue eyes. “To return the favor, I’d like to state that you are also physically attractive, Steve.” A kind smile.

Steve laughs himself, grateful that she does not take offense, and gives the man beside him a smug grin. “Hear that, Buck? Physically attractive. Bet no dame has called you that.”

Rolling his eyes, Bucky pulls away from the Captain, and crosses his arms. “Please, everyone knows that I’m pretty as they come.” Bucky’s eyes narrow in good humour, and he turns to Aiva. “Ain't that right, doll?”

There’s a slightly sad undertone to his joke, and Aiva has a suspicion that the Soldier is still rather uncomfortable with his prosthetic, despite everything. She observes the couple for a few minutes, considering her reply. Steve’s smile dims a bit, before he glances at her and notices the twinkle of mischief. Pressing a thoughtful finger to her pursed lips, she takes her time looking both men over. As seconds tick by during the slow perusal, Steve’s grin grows, and Bucky leans closer to the woman, eyebrow raised in challenge. Eventually, Aiva ‘hmms’, reaches out, her fingers twining chocolate the locks around her fingers and pulling. It’s a gentle movement, but the sensation it sends down Bucky’s spine has his eyes widening. She twists his face this way and that, faux seriousness furrowing her brow, as she assesses his features. It doesn’t escape Steve’s notice, that Bucky’s cheeks gain a little colour, and  _ that  _ has his own flushing. What the hell’s happening?

“Well, I suppose,” Aiva concedes, releasing the hold on the man, and leaning back against her pillows. 

She gives Steve an impish wink, her eyes knowing, but doesn’t say more. 

“Now that we’ve all acknowledged each other’s attractiveness, what  _ have  _ I missed?”

_ [0 1 0 1 1 0 0 1 0 1 1 0 1 1 1 1 0 1 1 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 1 1 0 0 1 0 0 1 1 1 0 0 1 1 0 0 0 0 1 0 1 0] _

_ It’s not easy to approach this issue. Not even remotely. If she’s wrong, he’ll never speak to her again. If she’s right… chances are pretty good that he’ll never speak to her again. He might take it as an accusation, or an insult. She’d never turn him in, of course, but he might not trust her enough to believe that, and he has never brought this up himself, not even subtly. Dragging this into the light might just shatter their tentative relationship.  _

_ Actually, now that she thinks about it, perhaps she shouldn’t - it’s technically none of her business, and this conversation calls for tact she simply does not have… Yes. None of her business… right? _

_ Laying her face on the railing, she lifts the drawing up, and sighs.  _

_ She loves him, without doubt, without reservation, and with everything she’s ever been. His presence alone is what’s kept her here, working this mildly humiliating job, when she had hoped to leave it within a month for more… challenging tasks. And perhaps it is foolish, loving a man, who is so much more, clearly destined for great things, while she herself will never be remembered, her name never uttered with awe or fear. But she’s seen his shoulders sag underneath his own expectations, she’s watched him swallow pride and pain for others, even when his efforts remained unrecognized, she’s- _

_ “What are you doing, sweetheart?” There’s laughter in his voice, but he’s trying to be polite and smother it.  _

_ “Thinking,” she mumbles.  _

_ Warm hands wrap around her waist from behind, and pull her from the railing. “About what?” _

_ Her body melts in the familiar embrace, even as she steels her heart for what is to come. She has to discuss this. Has to. There’s no way to continue as she is, pining for a man, who is clearly in love with another. So she places the drawing in those gentle pawns, and sighs, not daring to look at his face. _

_ “I’m thinking about how much I love you,” one bomb dropped, another to go - he has tensed up so much that his lap is as comfortable as her previous position on the concrete - her fingers gently brush across the face of a man she’s never met, etched into the paper with longing. . “And how much it hurts me to see you hide your love for him.”  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woot. Finally. Boys get to meet Aiva for REAL. It had been challenging writing Aiva without body language or expressions, and I'm relieved that I finally get to show you what's behind the cyber-curtain. As always, thank you for everything, guys. ^_^ Hearing from you is always a blast.


	11. “Data error”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys. This is basically a filler chapter, nothing much really happens, but some questions are asked/answered/brushed off, so it had to be released.  
> The 'flashback' part is probably the one that you wanna read. For those of you, who want to imagine the song a bit better, it would be somewhat similar to this version (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l9dfYKiRDAw). :)  
> Thank you as always and happy reading. ^_^

“Thank you, Steve, I am sure I’ll manage somehow,” Aiva smiles politely, and finally closes the door after hours upon hours of - as Sam had described it - clucking.

Having been given her own suite in the Tower, sparse in furnishing, but capable of meeting all basic needs, she had been allowed to leave the ward to be more comfortable. And god fucking damnit - sorry, Steve - she had to leave. Exhaling loudly into the blessed silence, Aiva feels her shoulders slump from the exhaustion that has set in during the past couple of days - questions, expectations, sensations, and… well, human contact, to be honest, have drained her to the point, where she had been constantly retreating to the bathroom just for a second of peace. She understands everyone’s worry, and is thankful for the care, but… having spent so much time on the outside of a society, she’s simply no longer built to withstand the long term immersion. Or perhaps never was, judging by the headache throbbing behind her eyes. 

“JARVIS, can you play some music, please?” Rubbing the bridge of her nose, she walks to the closet, and pulls underthings, a pair of grey sweatpants and an Iron man t-shirt that _someone_ has undoubtedly placed on top of the pile on purpose. She considers placing it back and choosing another, but decides that it’s the least she can do. And it’s going to piss Bucky off, so there’s also that.

“Anything specific?” The AI responds warmly, and Aiva’s lips twist in a smile. 

Of all the connections she’s made as a virtual assistant, JARVIS is the only one that has not changed his way of interacting with her, despite Aiva’s sudden acquisition of a human body. On one hand, it is strange, because they are no longer the same, and she has lost a lot of her abilities that her virtual existence had provided her with - Aiva can no longer move around the digital environment, nor can she synthesize data out of thin air. On the other, much of her remains the same. Having no memory of the life before her, Aiva’s situation remains unchanged, if not for her limited capabilities. Sighing, she thinks back to the days when with enough effort she could have accessed nearly anything in any database. Frankly, that part is the worst. She had enjoyed bending reality to her will, while it lasted, and the real world feels too frigid in comparison. Yet it is, what it is, she muses. 

“Let’s hear the five most popular songs from each year, please,” carefully, she peels the dirty clothing away, taking care not to irritate the chest wound. “I stopped my research before 1983, I think.”

“Of course, Ms. Aiva.” 

It takes JARVIS a couple of seconds to start the music, and Aiva proceeds to make preparations for the shower. She’s dressed down to her underwear, by the time the first notes flow from the speakers. The intro soon gives way to words, and she freezes, her hands still disentangling pins from her hair. 

“Really?” She’s laughing silently, as the Police proceeds to croon that he’ll keep watching her every move. 

“I assure you, this is not intentional,” JARVIS sounds adorably embarrassed, and she shakes her head with a smile.

“I suppose it _is_ rather fitting.” 

Not minding the song or the knowledge that she is actually being watched - JARVIS is a friend, after all - Aiva finishes undressing. To be honest, she’s the last person that should feel awkward with the notion that someone’s keeping an eye on her - there’s a reason it’s not difficult to operate things around the suite, despite Steve's worries and the lack of memories. For years she had been observing the world through Bucky’s eyes, memorizing various things, including day-to-day activities, and her memory still remains near perfect, eidetic. In hindsight, it’s quite disturbing that she knows so much about the Soldier, but it’s not like she can go back in time and disconnect to preserve his modesty. 

Aiva takes a moment to look at her own reflection in the mirror, fingers trailing over her skin. Although Steve has called her pretty, objectively speaking, she’s rather average. Her nose is a bit bigger than the beauty standard, jaw quite sharp, and skin marred by blemishes and gentle lines. Purplish shadows under dark eyes, bruises from the stasis catheters, and the sutured wound below the clavicle don’t really add to her looks, that’s for sure. Looking down at her body, she frowns in confusion, seeing the rather athletic build that was quite uncommon in women until the 21st century. She’s quite tall as well, roughly 5' 6", which won’t make her stand out today, but would have been strange 50 years ago. Turning away and entering the shower, Aiva gathers her long hair over one shoulder, and snorts. At least her breasts are adequate, as long as she ignores current trends to worship silicone mammary balloons.

Increasing the heat of the water, she groans as the warmth seeps into her bones, relaxing muscles and running down her skin. “What a feeling” is playing in the background, and once the melody has become familiar, she starts humming along. After all, humans are supposed to sing in the shower, and Aiva intends to be as human, as possible. The song changes to a more jolly tune, while she glances around the shower for something to wash her hair with. Another smile when her eyes land on Bucky’s half-used conditioner - he kept griping about the knots in her hair every time he brushed it. She takes her time in the shower, enjoying the burn, the scents, the sensations. While to some it may be a mundane experience, the glide of water and suds, cold tiles under the soles of her feet, the tickle of hair brushing against slippery skin, the synthetic scents of the shampoo, all of it so amazing, she nearly moans. By the time Aiva’s fingertips are pruney, and the water starts running a bit cooler, she’s still reluctant to get out into the real world. 

The song that’s playing is familiar - the bloody thing had been repeated on the radio over a dozen of times during one of Soldier’s missions - and she starts singing softly with INXS, her hips moving to the rhythm, even as she shimmies into sweatpants. The shirt is a bit more challenging with the wound, but she manages. Then she remembers the sports bra, grimaces and pulls the shirt off once more. A couple of minutes later, she’s panting and exhausted, face screwed up in annoyance. The shirt is on, but the bra is sitting smugly on the toilet seat. 

Promising the contraption-from-hell a rematch, Aiva starts towel-drying her hair. Brushing it is going to be yet another fight, that’s certain. The song has changed, she’s singing along to George Harrison (the lyrics are terribly predictable), when one hand blindly gropes the doors open, and she outright dances out of the bathroom, singing the chorus part. With the hair and towel in front of her face, she doesn’t notice the company, until the intruder clears their throat. 

Aiva pushes the hair away and takes in Nat’s fierce grin with an unimpressed look.

“I take it you’re still overriding privacy protocols?”

The redhead shrugs apologetically from her perch on the bar. “I considered waiting for you outside, but you were taking too long.”

Aiva’s voice gains an even drier tone, while she rolls her eyes and motions for JARVIS to shut the music down. “And I assume this was an absolute emergency.”

“No, not really.” Nat fishes a small ziplock bag out of her pocket and extends it to the brunette. “Wanted to give you this.”

Frowning, Aiva grasps the plastic wrapped star-shaped earrings. “I thought I had had no personal effects on me?”

“Nothing but this,” Nat watches her expressions curiously. “Do they feel familiar?”

It’s Aiva’s time to shrug. “No, not really.” She places them on the counter, alongside the towel and focuses back on the redhead. “That’s not the only reason you sought me out privately, is it?”

Another sharp grin. “No. Needed to talk to you about the Core.”

Understanding dawns. “Ah, Fury wants to know how Hydra got their hands on it?”

“That, and who else had the knowledge to operate the alien machinery.” Nat raises an eyebrow. “I know you had it moved at some point, so there is something.”

Crossing arms below her breasts, Aiva sighs. “I don’t know much, to be honest. In one archived entry, there were a few mentions of an abandoned Skrull ship salvage operation somewhere around the year 1945, though at the time I had no idea it was related to the Core in any way. I assume that’s where they got the alien technology, but that’s about it.”

“What about the relocation?” Nat taps her fingers on the counter, giving the other woman something to focus on. Aiva makes a mental note to try painting her nails at some point - after years of being a machine, she’s determined to experience everything humanity has to offer, even the silly things.

“In 2003 I started seeking out information on the Cores,” eyes growing distant, she feels the frown deepening. “Eventually, I came across a woman that was presumed dead, her personal files corrupted. Recovered fragments indicated that she was involved during phase one of project AIVA, and I dug a bit deeper. As it turned out, she was alive and well, hiding from Hydra.” 

Natasha throws her head back with a laugh. “You blackmailed her, didn’t you?”

“Well, of course.” She may not be proud of that, but Hydra sympathetic scientists were not exactly innocent, and it was a matter of life and death both for her and Bucky. “I made sure that destroying the Core would have had predetermined consequences, and we made a deal - she relocates the Core, I make her disappear, properly this time.”

“Let me guess, you know nothing of the process?” The scientist wouldn’t have given that kind of info away, the risk of being replaced would have been too high.

A sigh. “Part of the deal. All I had were coordinates and a timeframe.”

Natasha observes her for a moment, before hopping from the counter, and pulling a cellphone from the pocket. “I had expected as much. Fury’s not going to be happy, but I’ll handle him.” She types for a second, and turns back to Aiva. “Okay, Coulson’s on his way with the documents, and then we will leave you alone.”

“Documents?”

“Passport, driver’s license and other stuff. Most of it you had generated yourself, and we barely had to fix anything, mostly just height and weight.” Nat’s eyes glitter with amusement. “Does Steve know you’re practically married on paper?”

A shrug. “I didn’t use his last name.” Aiva’s ears turn slightly pink, which the hair luckily hides.

“Good thing, too, or you’d have so explaining to do, Ms. Grant. Bucky seems like the jealous type.” 

Rolling her eyes at the sharp grin, Aiva sighs. At the time, using Steve’s middle name as her last one had seemed harmless. Her entire profile had been fabricated using statistics, but that one tiny detail had been an impulsive decision. 

She’s so not looking forward to her session with Dr. Varris. 

_[0 1 0 1 1 0 0 1 0 1 1 0 1 1 1 1 0 1 1 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 1 1 0 0 1 0 0 1 1 1 0 0 1 1 0 0 0 0 1 0 1 0]_

_The bar is hazy from smoke and barely illuminated by globe shaped lights, which gives it a strangely cozy feel. A young man weaves between sparsely occupied tables, head turning this way and that, clearly seeking something or someone out. He doesn’t seem to notice curious gazes directed at him, nor care that this evening’s entertainment is setting up on stage. Once his eyes finish sweeping the area, his shoulders visibly slump and a confused frown settles on his face. Thankfully, a cute little redhead has already noticed him adrift in a sea of tables._

_“Sorry, sorry,” Lizzie mutters, while shouldering past curious onlookers and awkwardly placed chairs. “There you are!” She grins, hand latching onto the man’s elbow, and steering him towards a table near the stage._

_Reluctantly, the man follows. “I‘m here to meet-”_

_“Don’t you worry that pretty head of yours, hun,” Lizzie pushes the man down, swipes the ‘Reserved’ card from the table, and gives him a saucy wink. “Your girl will make her appearance in a moment.” The redhead gives a pointed look, indicating that the man should remain seated, and all but runs away, a giddy expression on her face._

_Amused by the girl’s antics, the man glances around, searching for the lovely brunette whose idea it was to come out for drinks, and sighs. While he doubts that she’s the kinda gal to stand a gentleman up, that’s still a possibility he cannot dismiss. Lost in his musings, he doesn’t notice a waitress coming over, until a drink is placed by his hand._

_“On the house, sir.” She smiles, making the man blush adorably. Despite how often it has happened, he’s still uncomfortable with the status and benefits that fame has brought him._

_“Thank you.” Not a single impolite bone in his body, he doesn’t refuse the drink in case it offends._

_Nodding, the waitress gives him a knowing smile, glancing at the stage and murmurings a soft “Enjoy the show, sir.”_

_Not quite as oblivious as people might like to believe him to be, he too turns to watch the performers, as the lights above the audience are dimmed even further. Glancing once more for his date, he takes a sip, and narrows his eyes. Surely she’s not going to do what he’s thinking…_

_The first soulful notes of the melody fill the bar, and a woman steps onto the stage, her dark eyes immediately meeting the man’s. She’s dressed in a deep green velvet dress that’s surprisingly less eye-catching than one would expect from a performer, and there's no glint of jewelry as far as the man can see. She glides to the microphone mostly unnoticed by the audience ruby red lips turned up in a devastating smile, then stops, never taking her eyes off of the man. He’s already bewitched, his heart beating painfully fast, eyes raking the curves hidden by velvet. But that’s clearly not enough torture it would seem - she closes her eyes, and... starts singing._

_I don't want to set the world on fire_

_I just want to start a flame in your heart_

_In my heart I have but one desire_

_And that one is you_

_No other will do_

_The chatter in the bar has stopped in the wake of her throaty voice curling with musical notes, and despite her unspectacular appearance, she has the audience’s undivided attention._

_I've lost all ambition for worldly acclaim_

_I just want to be the one you love_

_And with your admission that you feel the same_

_I'll have reached the goal I'm dreaming of_

_Believe me_

_This version of the song is slower, much more intimate than the original, and the way she sings - God help him - is as powerful as a physical caress. He can nearly taste her lips, when they wrap around each word, imbuing it with the sensual melancholy that goes unnoticed during their shows, and his own mouth grows dry at the gentle sway of velvet clad hips._

_I don't want to set the world on fire_

_I just want to start a flame in your heart_

_I don't want to set the world on fire honey_

_I love you too much_

_I just want to start a great big flame_

_Down in your heart_

_You see, way down inside of me_

_Darlin' I have only one desire_

_And that one desire is you_

_And I know, nobody else ain't gonna do_

_During the instrumental solo, her gaze pierces through him once again, dark and passionate. He’s never seen her quite as powerful as now, when she’s pouring herself into the melody, and he has witnessed her performing songs and dances over and over again. Perhaps it’s because she’s singing to him - and he’s certain she is - heart bare and smile wicked, with a glint of teeth, as if daring to look away. Or perhaps it’s his weakening resistance to keep her at arm's length, his crumbling fear that his heart has already been given away to a man (who doesn't even know) and cannot love another._

_Her fingers glide over the microphone, fluttering with the barest touch that somehow skitters down his spine as well, settling inside his bones as heat, melding seamlessly with the ache of longing. Were she closer, he would drag the sharp red nails to his lips, stilling their movement with feverish breath and gentle kisses, before they would undoubtedly skim his flesh and dig in deep. The thought is startling, and yet predictable. They have been dancing around each other too long to not grow hungry, those little tastes and platonic touches bare crumbs in comparison to what the body desires._

_I've lost all ambition for worldly acclaim_

_I just want to be the one you love_

_And with your admission that you feel the same_

_I'll have reached the goal I'm dreaming of_

_Believe me_

_Coaxing, beguiling, consuming she sings, the intensity of each word increasing, much like his grip on the glass. He’s so lost to her magic - for what else could it be to touch him so deeply, if not magic - so lost to thoughts most certainly ungentlemanly that when her fingers tuck a dark curl behind her ear, he forgets to silence a low frustrated growl that rumbles deep in his chest._

_How many times has he placed a barrier between them, as to not cause heartache, thinking that he could love no other but the one forbidden? How many times has he brushed off soft words and heated looks, requesting simple friendship, when his own eyes devoured everything about her? And yet, despite it all, there, in her earlobe, shines a tiny silver star. A simple part of a uniform that used to hold no meaning to him is now taunting from a distance with it’s miniscule glimmer, begging to be sucked between his teeth, caressed by his tongue._

_I don't want to set the world on fire_

_I just want to start a flame in your heart_

_A simple piece of jewelry, the only piece in the midst of dark curls and velvet, in fact, which makes her message all the more clear._

**_Yours_** _._


	12. “#NAME?”

“It doesn’t trouble you that everyone continues addressing you as Aiva?” Dr. Varris asks, a soft frown wrinkling her forehead. 

“Not really, no,” the woman in question admits, head propped on a hand in a thoughtful way. “That’s all I’ve ever been.”

“Nonetheless, the acronym AIVA implies a disembodied computer generated voice for those in the know,” the doctor takes a sip of her tea calmly, consciously creating a subtle pause. “Or at the very least has troubling connotations. You could always choose a different name, I’m certain. No one would blame you for it, and it would be child’s play for SHIELD to tweak your documentation.”

“That may be so, but I’m still the same individual, generally speaking,” an ironic little smile twists Aiva’s lips. “Digital or human, it fits. I like it, even. And there are a number of people in the world named Aiva.”

The doctor nods, glancing at her notes and returning the smile with one of her own. Though hers seems a tad bit more impish. “Well at least your last name has no painful associations, doesn’t it?”

Lips pressed together, Aiva adopts a deadpan look at ‘subtle’ ribbing. 

“I am not trying to make you uncomfortable,” the doctor denies the obvious. “I’m just curious as to why you’d select it, even before your… transition.”

It’s not like Aiva hasn’t prepared for this question. As a matter of fact, she has spent hours analyzing her choice, trying to pinpoint the logic behind it. Still, defining her reasoning out loud is rather embarrassing. Nails raking across the stitching, snagging on the rough texture, she soaks up the luxury of this experience. A sigh escapes her as she opens her lips to speak. 

“Steve has always been kind to me, even when I was - for all intents and purposes - nothing but an AI.” 

The doctor smiles shrewdly and sips her tea again. “Did you choose it as a show of gratitude?”

Slumping slightly, Aiva huffs in frustration - it’s quite difficult to put it into words. “In the beginning, when I knew nothing of the world, there was only the Soldier. I learned through his eyes and ears, I watched his struggles, and I fought to grant us independence and freedom. Rebelling against beliefs that Hydra had programmed me with, I sought to grasp the concepts of human emotions, the differences between right and wrong. It was a cumbersome flounder towards humanity for both of us, though he had it slightly easier - his memories were returning, while I had nothing else but our experiences to go on. Eventually, I started seeking information elsewhere, my reach expanding exponentially with the widespread use of the internet, but by then Bucky was finishing his journey, and I had to concentrate on ensuring his safety.” 

Smiling gently at the memories of their shared past, Aiva shrugs. “That’s why I don’t mind the name Aiva. It’s a token of our time together, of the journey we’d taken.” Straightening she sighs. “When Tony ‘downloaded’ my consciousness into the Avatar, he gave me the opportunity to meet a lot of different people - new connections and experiences made me grow in numerous ways, and as I navigated the confusing aspects of human relationships, experienced amusement, grief and fear, my personality developed into something distinctive. My emotional intellect, behavioural evolution has always impressed you, and I doubt it has gone unnoticed that it was Steve who I connected to first without coercion, Steve that encouraged me to befriend others.”

“You have spent a lot of time together, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” smiling, she shakes her head. “He’d stop by whenever he could, telling me about his day, asking ridiculous questions and generally just being kind. While Bucky had taught me about the world, Steve encouraged imagination and roused curiosity. Eventually, he was so intricately woven into my existence - much like the Soldier - that it felt right, keeping some part of him, however small, as mine. I cannot fathom my existence without their presence.”

Dr. Varris ‘hmms’ toughfully, scratching her temple with the end of the fountain pen. “You appear to be deeply attached to the two of them.”

“Of course, I am.”

“Typically, I would rejoice - strong connections are necessary when recovering from severe trauma - and make no mistake, what you’ve gone through  _ is  _ trauma, no matter how little you recall. Unfortunately, I do have to wonder if your unique situation and bond with both men won’t cause friction.” At Aiva’s incredulous expression, Dr. Varris’ eyes crinkle kindly. “Which one do you feel closer to? Mr. Rogers or Mr. Barnes?”

“Neither,” not even a hint of hesitation. “I care for them both equally, if differently. And I’ve grown close to other people, as well. Natasha and Sam included. Perhaps even Stark, as strange as that seems.”

“That may be so, but in the beginning you displayed a nearly pathological dependence on Mr. Barnes. I worry that with time, you might start favouring one or the other, and their  _ relationship  _ might cause envy.” The doctor is clearly trying to be as gentle as she can about the issue.

“I’m very well aware that they are lovers,” Aiva doesn’t hide her amusement - the things she has seen and heard would make the doctor blush, “and I have no intention to get between them. While I crave their attention, I am no longer bound to a stationary speaker, and dependent on them to initiate conversation - I am free to interact with the world with or without their help.”

A gentle clink of steel against ceramic, shuffle of fabric. 

“If that’s the case, why have you not sought help with the nightmares? Mr. Stark has mentioned that you’ve been having trouble sleeping.” Dr. Varris glances over her glasses, the pen tapping gently against one of her many notebooks. 

Keeping her expression carefully blank, Aiva shrugs and fixes her eyes on the shelves filled with various miniature figures and other decorative pieces. Damn Tony and his meddling - just because he’s seen her roaming the tower in the middle of the night, it does not mean that’s any of his business. The past few weeks have been strange to experience, and while she seems to be adjusting well, certain aspects of being human are just too strange to comprehend. Sleep is one of them, yes. As an AI, Aiva had never ever actually slept - she had always remained alert at least to a degree, monitoring various streams of data, running maintenance and checkups. As a human being, she is capable of staying still for prolonged periods of time, certainly, yet there’s no switch, no muscle that would shut her brain off. She had tried meditating, physical exertion, watching mind-numbing documentaries, before giving up and turning to medication (not quite legally acquired, but Dr. Varris doesn’t need to know that). Sadly, falling asleep does not mean she won’t wake up within an hour, disoriented by images, sounds and sensations that her brain has fabricated. Each return to consciousness is accompanied by elevated heart-rate, shallow frequent breaths, and an overwhelming fear. Aiva’s a rational person and has witnessed enough of Soldier’s nightmare-induced panic attacks to be aware of the symptoms. She knows all the right things to do. So what, if none of that really helps? So what if Aiva cannot figure out what’s causing it? It’s not like anyone can cure this with a hug. She’ll figure it out, eventually, herself. There’s no need to worry her friends or get Dr. Varris involved - the latter would keep this to herself, but there’s no doubt in Aiva’s mind that she’d also drop hints to the boys - it’s a personal problem, and a small price to pay for humanity. 

The silence stretches, and Dr. Varris finishes her tea with a sigh. 

“Very well,” she nods, her face impassive. “Is there anything else you’d like to discuss then?”

“No.”

A sigh follows a tell-tale slap of the notebook closing. “Then that’s it for today.” At Aiva’s surprised glance, the woman smiles. “No one’s going to force you to do anything, Aiva. I’m here to help whenever you need me, but otherwise, you’re free to leave.”

“Thank you, Doc.” The brunette doesn’t waste any time, jumping to her feet with a polite nod, and turning towards the exit.

“One last thing, however,” Dr. Varris speaks up just as she reaches the threshold. “When things get difficult, do not hesitate to reach out. Sometimes just the presence of a friend helps.”

Grimacing, Aiva shakes her head. She’s been dependent on others for far too long already, as it is. It’s better to stand up on her own feet now, than to seek support and lose it once she’s evicted from the Tower, her connections cut off. The door closes behind her, and she ignores Dr. Varris’ burning stare at her lack of response. 

She’s human now. She’ll handle it. 

_ [0 1 0 1 1 0 0 1 0 1 1 0 1 1 1 1 0 1 1 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 1 1 0 0 1 0 0 1 1 1 0 0 1 1 0 0 0 0 1 0 1 0] _

“Sergeant Barnes seems to be looking for you. Should I alert him to your whereabouts, Ms. Aiva?” 

Gasping in mouthfuls of air, Aiva stops the treadmill and wipes the sweat off of her forehead. 

“Of course, JARVIS. Is this some sort of emergency?” It’s rare for Bucky to seek her out so late.

“Doesn’t appear to be.” The AI responds warmly.

“Okay then,” grabbing the bottle of water, Aiva plops on the nearest bench with a groan - while pushing her limits to reach physical exhaustion helps, it’s not the most pleasant of activities. 

By the time nausea has retreated, Bucky still hasn’t made his appearance, so she stumbles towards the mats to do her cooldown stretches. This part is far more enjoyable, and she loses herself to the fluidity of movement, curving this way and that to squeeze the trembling out of her muscles. Her breathing is slow but deliberate, just as Banner has shown her during their yoga routines, though half of her attention remains locked on the entrance of the gym. 

She hears footsteps ten minutes later and settles into the revolved triangle pose with a smile. There are a couple more exercises in her routine left, and knowing Bucky’s aversion to yoga she intends to make a show out of them. Fixing her eyes on the mirror to check her stance, Aiva notices the man as soon as he clears the threshold. 

Bucky’s posture is relaxed and a small smile curls his lips when he notices Aiva twisting herself into a pretzel. Clearly there is no emergency that would require her at 10 PM, and she smiles at his reflection in greeting.

Holding the pose for a few more seconds, she straightens up, using the opportunity to speak. “Need me for something?” 

“Yeah. The team has settled down to watch a movie, thought you might want to join us.” Leaning his back against the wall, Bucky crosses his arms over his chest.

“I’d like that,” stretching into the pigeon pose, Aiva reaches backwards and grasps the toes of one leg. “I’ll finish here soon and join you in ten.”

His response to the statement is a thoughtful hum. Switching sides, Aiva spares a quick glance, and smirks at the curious tilt to his head. She’s dressed in a sports bra (HA! Take that, skimpy straight jacket!), a crop top and shorts, leaving a lot of skin on display. One would think that a woman in her position might feel awkward dressed down to what might as well be underwear, but having lived without a body for so damn long, Aiva  _ wants _ people to look at her, as imperfect as she is. She’d been invisible and intangible for far too long. 

“You should’ve asked JARVIS to relay the message.” She smiles, making the next exercise look as painful as possible, earning a wince from the brooding soldier. 

“And miss the show?” Bucky laughs silently. “Not a chance, doll.” His gaze takes in the arch of her back, glistening with sweat, the tension in her quivering limbs, before settling on the concentrated expression. “You’re in great shape, considering that this is your second week of physical activity.” A statement, not a question. Aiva laughs. 

“I am quite fit, yes. Is that really surprising?”

Shaking his head, Bucky drops the arms by his sides and takes a step closer. “It’s strange, that’s all. This kind of stamina and flexibility used to be rare in women.” Another step. “What about combat?”

Switching to the crow pose, Aiva shrugs (which is not as easy as it sounds). “According to Barton I can’t throw a decent punch if my life depends on it.” A huff. “Shouldn't you return?”

Bucky just waves a hand. “They can start without us.” Crouching to be face to face with the human knot, he smirks. “We’ve been trying to ID you. This could be a clue.“

Unfurling to stretch backwards, legs straight out and hips against the mat, Aiva rolls her eyes. Her breathing is fucked up already, but she figures just going through the motions is good enough. (And if the way Bucky’s eyes peruse her every shift is any indication, the man doesn’t mind it either.)

They’re eye to eye now, a few handbreadths away from each other. 

“What are you thinking?” This close, she can see the amusement and calculation in those grey eyes. 

“An athlete? Performer? Circus acrobat?” He shrugs, eyes never straying from her face. “You’re clearly built for physical exertion. Since Hydra’s training would include hand-to-hand, I figure this might be related to your past. It’s something to consider.”

With a laugh, Aiva slides backwards into the child's pose. “What other clues have you discovered?” 

“Not much yet, but there’s no way Hydra nabbed you at random. Something about you had to be important.”

Rolling on her heels, Aiva finishes with one final standing stretch, reaching upwards with the tips of her fingers, holding the air in her lungs, muscles taunt as a bow string. Thirty seconds later, she deflates, dropping her arms to her sides. The workout has left her pleasantly drained, and she takes a moment to just roll her head in enjoyment. How many times has she observed others training, fighting, and running, never being able to so much as imagine how it feels? People take such freedom for granted so very often, realizing its advantages only when they suffer a loss, that Aiva wants to shake some sense into them. But such is life, she supposes. Savouring the burn one last time, she aims her attention back to Bucky. Facing him - he has followed her example and stood up as well - she takes in the appreciative glint in his hooded eyes, and smiles slyly. 

“So you think I’m special?” 

Letting his eyes slide up and down her sweaty form, Bucky steps closer, inducing a shiver that runs down Aiva’s spine. The cooling sweat has left her slightly chilly, but his perusal reheats the blood in a different way - even if he won’t act on it, being desired is a new experience, and Aiva soaks it up with enthusiasm. 

“I don’t think, I  _ know  _ you’re special, doll.” 

The hand that reaches out is hesitant, and they both watch it crossing the distance to her skin, like one would watch a wild animal. Aiva inhales sharply, nostrils flaring, when the fingertips brush against her shoulder, feather-light but steady. They burn down the path to her wrist, leaving an invisible brand, before wrapping around her hand and giving it a squeeze. 

“I can’t imagine my life without a friend like you.”

Their eyes meet again and they smile at each other. 

  
  


“Well… this was...” Aiva’s voice trails off, eyes still glued to the screen. “Interesting?”

An arm wraps around her shoulders, pulling her against Steve’s side, while the entire team just stares at the rolling credits in astonishment. Clint is the only one that’s wearing a shit-eating grin, having selected the movie ‘Ex Machina’ on purpose. 

“So, what do you think?” He exclaims, grabbing a fistfull of untouched popcorn and munching on them like it’s his last meal. Though maybe it is, judging by Nat’s solemn head shake. 

The brunette considers the question, while Steve glares at the archer, and Bucky slowly cracks his neck, his own expression flat in a very troubling way. 

“Maybe I  _ should  _ change my name…?” Aiva looks at Steve, stunned. It is rather similar to the protagonist of the movie, after all.

This sets Bucky off, and he outright  _ growls  _ before launching at the responsible party. Clint dashes away, barely in time, a yelp escaping him, popcorn exploding all over sofa cushions, when he sees the Winter Soldier stalking in his direction. They dodge the furniture and empty bottles, until both men disappear behind doors that close with a slam. The last thing Aiva sees is Bucky gaining on Clint. Outside the room there’s a brief scuffle, followed by a solid thump and a low whine that sets Nat off. While the female assassin laughs, the rest of the team share worried but amused glances. All but one, that is. Stark peers at his watch, before turning to Pepper with a devastated look. He even manages a tear. 

“Time of death 00:42. Rest in peace, Barton.”

_ [0 1 0 1 1 0 0 1 0 1 1 0 1 1 1 1 0 1 1 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 1 1 0 0 1 0 0 1 1 1 0 0 1 1 0 0 0 0 1 0 1 0] _

_ She laughs, pressing her face against his shoulder, the uniform’s texture unpleasant, but the man himself more than making up for it. It’s not the first time she’s sought shelter in his scent and warmth, but the circumstances are certainly unique. They’re not alone in the theater - the crowd around them is clapping and shouting supportive words at the screen, their faces twisting with shock, humour and tension as the story progresses. Technically, that’s exactly what she should and would be doing, if she could just... stop. laughing. _

_ “I’m slightly miffed here, sweetheart,” her support column whispers, hot breath stirring loose hairs curling against her neck. “This is a very emotional story, and I can’t help but think that you’re cracking up at my expense.”  _

_ Snorting in good humour, she meets those beautiful eyes that are glinting with mischief, her own face flushed from exertion. “Sorry, Soldier, I’ll-”  _

_ The apology gets interrupted, however, by her own loud guffaw, when she spies the main character on screen shaking the gun in a poor attempt to mimic recoil. It’s not the action itself that sets her off again, but the constipated expression twisting a naturally beautiful face. She presumes it’s supposed to indicate determination and patriotism, but all she can see is her friend and paramour fruitlessly trying to remember the script.  _

_ Trying to silence her own wheezing and sniggering - this is so unbefitting of a lady, her mother would say - she clamps her mouth shut with both hands, barely keeping the grip with how hard her shoulders are shaking. A few girls in the audience give her amused looks, while their boss pauses the simpering smile to scowl in her general direction. Her beau does not seem to mind it much, though, considering that his own expression is bright and fond. _

_ “Gotta admit, you’ve got moxie, ma’am,” he murmurs, the undertone delightfully feverish.  _

_ “Why’s that?” Squeezing his arm, she leans closer, anticipation making her nibble on her own bottom lip.  _

_ “A lesser man would take offense at all this laughter.” It’s not decent to smooch in such a public place, not really, but she thinks he’s considering it anyway, the quick glances at her lips divulging his desire to taste her mirth.  _

_ “Ah, but you have nothing to be offended by, soldier. This is a killer-diller performance, and the lead actor is quite the looker.” _

_ The heat of his stare simmers down, subsiding into something more comfortable and so very precious. “That so?” _

_ Her own smile grows less teasing, fingers digging into his sleeve and flesh. “There’s no better man on or off screen,” when she continues, her whisper has grown hoarse with honesty, “and while I laugh at his fictional adventures, there’s no one I’d rather trust my safety, my life and my heart to.” _

_ “Sweetheart...” _

_ “You’re going to change the world, Steve,” she smiles softly. “You’ve already changed mine, after all.” _


	13. “Error: The file is corrupt and cannot be opened”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Here's a new chapter, and it comes with a few warnings: the 'flashback' scene includes some violence, and a suicide attempt. It's not detailed, but do avoid it if these things make you uncomfortable. 
> 
> *huff* On a completely different note... Well, I gotta tell ya, kids, it's getting difficult to write. Not because of a writer's block, noooo, that would be too easy, but because I have too many scenes in my head. :D A lot of interactions between Aiva, the boys and other characters (mostly inconsequential) happen behind the curtain, and my fingers itch to write them (which is why this chapter took so long to flesh out). Or maybe I'm just trying to hold on to these characters, who knows. Anyways, two chapters post-AI reveal have already turned to more, so I'm reigning myself in. We're finally nearing the end of the journey, and I wanna say... you guessed it - thank you. I know I've repeated myself numerous times, but each and every kudos or comment are very much appreciated. In a way, we're writing this fanfic together, so thank you and happy reading. ;)

Tonight is even worse than all the others. Aiva awakens with a start, her body jerking so hard that she ends up on the cold floor, wheezing and trembling in terror, fingers grasping at the throat that seems clogged by ice. The meds are still working, though, which means that she’s even more disoriented than usual, weeping in fright as images flash before her eyes, and her mouth fills with the taste of blood. A loose T-shirt suddenly feels like a vice, it’s collar digging into Aiva’s flesh like a noose, while the elastic band of her pants makes it feel like something/someone is grabbing her from behind and trying to haul her body away. She’s so out of it, that even as JARVIS turns on the light in an attempt to calm her down, she tries to scream for help, wheezing pathetically in her efforts, and curling into a tiny ball to ward off the beating that’s not coming.

Her mind clears eventually, leaving her wrung out emotionally and physically, lying in a fetal position on a smarting shoulder. It takes her a couple of minutes, before the woman pulls herself up, flinching when the blanket hanging nearby brushes against her back - the pathom clutches of whoever she has dreamed of remain, even if she cannot recall much more than that. 

Assuring JARVIS that she's fine, Aiva probes a tender should with a wince. This isn’t her first rodeo and she knows that there won’t be any more sleeping tonight, no matter how much she’d like to. Instead, there are a couple of options: she could go to the gym, yet with the way her limbs are quivering, the treadmill would not only be unhelpful, but also potentially dangerous; or she could seek someone out (as Dr. Varris has suggested), though that would be quite rude, seeing as it’s barely pasty 4AM, and not even Steve would be awake for his morning run. 

Considering her next move, Aiva stumbles towards the bathroom, hoping that washing off the sweat might make her a bit more focused as it has helped before. Frustratingly, not even a hot shower removes the oily sensation of terror, and she knows that staying inside her room is out of question. 

Glancing at the calendar propped on the bedside table, Aiva’s lips thin in thought.

“JARVIS, has Natasha returned from her latest assignment?” She speaks, rummaging through her wardrobe for nondescript clothing.

“She has not, if I’m not mistaken, Ms. Aiva.”

“And Stark?” Slipping into jeans and a t-shirt, she steps into the bathroom once more.

“Remains at the conference in Vienna.”

Humming, she proceeds to brush her teeth. Coincidentally, today many of the Avengers of Avenger-related-persons are out. Odinson has taken Jane and Darcy to Asgard, Sam will still be out, volunteering at the VA meeting, and Pepper’s undoubtedly with Stark (someone has to manage their reputation). That leaves only the supersoldiers, Clint and Bruce. The latter won’t notice her absence, seeing as he rarely leaves the lab, and the others should be busy with training, debriefing and pre-op preparations until dinner. Realizing that this is the perfect opportunity to stretch her wings a bit, without inconveniencing her friends, Aiva grabs her wallet, shrugs on a coat and starts walking. 

The facility on the residential floors is covered in the sleepy blanket of silence and darkness, but she’s so used to it by now that instead of feeling lonely or spooky, it feels comfortable. With no goal in mind, Aiva enters the elevator with unfocused eyes, stares at the panel until JARVIS prompts for a destination, and pushes the button for the ground floor. The sensation of her stomach dipping and soaring makes her stagger, and she pulls out her phone to distract her suddenly sensitive intestines. Aiva hasn’t used the phone much, to be honest - this is her first trip outside the tower, which means that with an AI within the building there has been no need to utilize the phone. And maybe, just maybe she’s exceptionally terrible at physically interacting with technology, despite Darcy’s thorough tutorials - she keeps this inability a secret, even if she realizes that her embarrassment is irrational. Aiva used to be able to coordinate teams, hack into databases and spam Fury’s email with honey badger memes simultaneously! And now… Bras and touch-screens. May they go to hell. 

Despite her ineptitude with technology, Aiva figures that if she’s leaving the premises, the least she can do is set up her communications device. Glaring at the screen as the Stark logo finally lights up, she barely registers the elevator pausing, and the doors sliding open. The only reason she does is the fact that as soon as she steps to exit the lift, a sharp intake of breath makes her meet the red-rimmed eyes of a familiar large man. That’s when she realizes that the elevator has stopped way earlier than she had instructed it ( she’s not  _ that  _ bad at technology), and her sneaky escape has been thwarted. 

“Aiva? What are you doing up?” Steve takes in her clothing, confusion etching even more lines that are already present on his face. “And why are you dressed like you’re going out?”

Normally, it would be no trouble to subtly change the subject, wiggle out of the question and turn it back around on Steve - she’s spent long enough watching people and learning just how to push their buttons, manipulate their reactions. Unfortunately, today she’s running on fumes, too wiped from the constant sleepless nights, too emotionally raw to mask the loneliness and fatigue. Yet it’s  _ Steve _ . The more she interacts with him, the less she wants to hide, to lie.

Especially when he looks equally as wrecked _.  _

He too is dressed for the cool weather - jeans, shirt, jacket - and Aiva wonders briefly if JARVIS alerted Steve to her intentions, but the notion is quickly dismissed. Judging by the uneven flush to his face, the messy hair and slightly puffy eyes, he’s distressed, anxious. The hunch to his shoulders and the drumming of fingers against jean-clad thighs nearly mimics her own body language - tired physically but unable to stay still, too keyed up mentally.

The silence stretches on, the two of them scrutinizing each other absentmindedly, until the doors start closing, and Steve has to slam his hand to keep them open. That seems to snap both of them out of the momentarily trance, and Aiva smiles gently, her shoulders twitching in a sheepish hug. 

“Couldn’t sleep,” her admission is quiet, eyes focused somewhere above his shoulder. 

“So you’ve decided to take a walk.” A statement, not a question, and Steve bends slightly, tilting his head to meet her gaze with a faint smile of his own. “It’s 4 AM, sweetheart.”

Sliding her phone, and both hands into her coat pockets, Aiva motions at his own clothing. “What about you? Doesn’t look like you’re going out for a jog.”

Steve glances down at himself, as if only now remembering what he is wearing. “Great minds think alike, I guess.” Frowning slightly, he focuses back on the woman in front of him. “It’s not smart, leaving the Tower alone, especially for you, Aiva.” This prompts an eye roll from the brunette in question, and he recognizes the sudden stubborn set of the jaw - he’s seen it enough times in the mirror. “But seeing as I’m here, already...”

Her smile brighter, Aiva motions to her right dramatically. “You might as well babysit, indeed. Shall we go?”

“We shall.”

  
  


The morning is peaceful, even if they aren’t really alone in the dimly illuminated streets. That’s the curse of big cities, Aiva supposes, the never ending bustle, the constant noise. 

And yet, as they walk side by side, she watches the nighttime’s deep blue give way to the pastels of dusk, and her shoulders relax. The nightmare’s lingering effects scatter in the cool air, even though some tension remains, and she relishes in the peaceful moments. A quick glance at the supersoldier confirms that his own demons are burning in the hazy light, and that gives her courage to ask. 

“The nightmares?” She asks, eyes kind and focused on Steve’s face.

He glances at her briefly, his hand moving to rub the back of his neck in discomfort. It’s not the first time Steve has sought Aiva’s company at night, memories and fears clinging to his shoulders and weighing him down. Numerous times she has been the only one he felt comfortable going to, not willing to burden Bucky nor familiar enough with others - for a long time he has assumed that it was due to her digital state of being. It’s no secret that Steve would rather suffer in silence than unload on someone else. Moreover, explaining to Bucky that he cannot sleep because of shame and fear at the knowledge of what has happened (and could still happen) to his friend and lover has always been completely out of question. He believed that a friendly if disembodied voice was a logical compromise… But now that he has known Aiva as a person, a human being, he’s no longer certain. Even now, simply in her presence, he realizes that the terrors that ran him out of the Tower seem much further away. 

Besides, she knows. Computer generated voice or a flesh and blood woman, she’s still the one that supported him time and time again. 

“The same,” a pathetic attempt at a smile. “I’m pretty sure the debrief triggered it.”

Aiva gives him an understanding nod, and motions towards the park. “Why don’t we sit down somewhere and you can tell me all about it.”

Snorting, Steve grasps her elbow to maneuver them around a suspicious looking puddle. “You’ve been spending too much time with Dr. Varris, sweetheart.”

This in turn yanks a laugh out of her. “Not denying that, Captain.” They walk towards a less travelled portion of the Central park, enjoying the scent of moist earth and slight chill. 

Eventually, Aiva tugs her companion left, and plops on a bench. When she pats the spot near her, Steve gives her a curious smile. “Sit down and tell Dr. Aiva your deepest, darkest secrets.”

With a laugh, Steve follows a bit more gracefully, propping his elbow on slightly spread knees. “They're sending us to a small town in Alaska,” winking at her halfheartedly he adds: “Just don’t tell anyone. It’s classified info that I’m currently sharing with you.”

Smiling in response, Aiva mimics zipping her lips. “I’m guessing it’s the mention of severe cold that’s brought on the nightmares to the surface, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, that’s what I think anyway.” A sigh. “It’s the same thing over and over again: losing Bucky, crashing the plane, not keeping my promise to a friend.” Steve runs a frustrated hand through his hair, the muscles in his jaw twitching with the effort to remain calm. “I think it’s the moments after the crash that still get to me the most - the cold, the pain, the inevitability. I wish I had lost consciousness immediately, but instead...”

Leaning against him to share her warmth, Aiva’s eyes follow a female jogger and her puppy. “I’m sorry you have to go through this, Steve. I’m not going to tell you that everything’s okay now. We both know that both you and Bucky have lost, well, everything, except each other. And it must be terrible seeing the woman you loved losing herself to old age. It’s a shitty situation, a heavy burden to- Something funny?” She frowns, feeling the shoulder she’s leaning against shake, and turns to see the sheepish grin on his face. 

The blond bites his lip in an effort to stifle the smile. “Me and Peggy, we weren’t…” His words trail off, but Aiva’s a clever little cookie, even without permanent access to the internet she’s smart enough to fill in the blanks. 

Raising an eyebrow in surprise, she considers nodding and steering the conversation back to the nightmares, but reconsiders at the last moment - whenever Steve sought her out in the past, distraction was what helped him compose himself. “Then what’s with the photo, the stories about you two?”

At her incredulous expression Steve ducks his head to hide the laughter, as bittersweet as it is. “We were friends, good friends, but nothing more. She was a beautiful lady, and I was caught staring once. It became a running joke that I was trying to woo her.” A shrug. “Peggy didn’t mind it, and we played along.” Looking at his hands, moving the fingers that have gone numb in the cold, he sighs. 

It’s clear that lover or not, seeing age ravaging Margaret Carter is difficult, and Aiva decides to focus on what Steve hasn’t lost. “Well, now I feel silly. I should have figured it out myself - the Soldier isn’t one for sharing.”

A spark of mischief lights up in Steve’s eyes. “You’d be surprised.”

Gasping dramatically, Aiva leans back and clutches non-existent pearls. “Captain Rogers! How naughty of you!” At the roll of his eyes, she smiles. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

“Not a guy. A gal.” A couple walks past them, smiling at Captain America excitedly, but keeping their distance. He smiles back, easing against the bench, subconsciously placing an arm behind Aiva, as if to shield her. “It was… before, and we never got to that point, anyway.”

“What happened?”

Rubbing his mouth, Steve watches the treetops swaying in the wind, fingers gently grazing the collar of Aiva’s coat. “We met not long after I got the serum, and worked together for awhile.” The slump to his shoulders returns. He turns back to Aiva, watching her expression with laser sharp focus, searching for something. “She was something else - gorgeous, fierce, take-no-shit kinda gal. There weren’t many things I liked about singing and dancing like a goddamn monkey, but she made it worth it in the end.”

Watching emotions flit across Steve’s face, she clasps one of his cold hands, giving it a squeeze. He hasn’t said anything too incriminating, but she can feel the affection in his voice. 

“You loved her.” He nods in agreement, turning his head away once more, and she can’t help but feel that he seems disappointed. “I take it this was before you were reunited with the Soldier. Does Bucky know or…?”

“Buck and I, we didn’t get  _ together  _ until the Howling Commandos. It was actually because of her that I even got the backbone to tell him, and by then I was head over heels with the spunky girl that could sing like sin. So yeah, I told Buck. There was no way I could choose, but he seemed more than fine with it, to be honest. To quote him ‘ _ Thank fuck, ‘cause there’s no way I’d be able to hadle you by myself, punk _ ’.” Aiva laughs silently, but Steve’s smile looks bittersweet. “I wrote to her a few times, and we promised to meet after the war, but that, obviously, didn’t happen.” 

“Did you search for her after waking up?” She can’t imagine that he didn’t, and prepares for the worst. The tightening around his eyes confirms it.

“I did. She died a few years after the crash. Consumption.”

“I’m sorry,” squeezing his hand once again, Aiva leans even closer.

They stay silent for awhile, enjoying each other’s presence and watching the sun rise higher. Eventually, however, Steve speaks the words she’s been dreading the entire time. 

“You don’t have to tell me, but if you want to talk about whatever it is that’s bothering you, I am here to listen.” It’s spoken softly, hesitantly, and Aiva wonders if Steve has noticed her nightly roamings after all. 

Exhaling forcefully, she rubs her thumb across the back of Steve’s hand. Were she thinking clearly, she wouldn’t say a thing, or at least not as much as she does eventually. Unfortunately, despite her determination to be less dependant on people, the irrational humanity that she has mocked in others takes the reins, and words spill over. Like someone has pulled a plug in an overflowing tub, everything drains out of Aiva: she tells him about the inability to fall asleep without aid, the snippets of nightmares, the physical reactions to them, her doubts and fears concerning her integration into the real world, the shame she still carries for failing Jacob...She tells him everything. It all comes out in an emotional rush, and when she  _ finally _ snaps the traitor mouth shut, angry and raw from such a show of vulnerability, Steve places a soft kiss on the top of her head. It’s enough. The gesture deflates her like a balloon, and she clings to the man beside her in a very undignified manner.

“You’ll get through this, sweetheart,” Steve promises. “We will all get through this, because no matter what, we still have each other.”

Such a useless thing to say, Aiva thinks wistfully, and yet, somehow, for the moment, it helps.

_ [0 1 0 1 1 0 0 1 0 1 1 0 1 1 1 1 0 1 1 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 1 1 0 0 1 0 0 1 1 1 0 0 1 1 0 0 0 0 1 0 1 0] _

_ Hands grasping her, roughly, leaving bruises in their wake and the taste of blood in her mouth, as her lip splits - that’s the first thing she feels waking up in an unfamiliar room. Frightful eyes dart around, taking in the murky green walls, the surgical equipment, and the large chair. She spots a familiar man, and her mind jumps back to the morning when her doorbell rang and she opened the door to the brutish looking asshole. It’s still unclear as to why they have taken her, but when her limp body is dragged towards the chair, she realizes that she’s about to find out.  _

_ When the torture starts, she screams, her well trained voice going rough within moments.  _

_ “Have you been in contact with Captain Rogers?” _

_ “When was the last time you saw Captain Rogers?” _

_ “What are you to Captain Rogers?” _

_ “Has Captain Rogers given you anything for safekeeping?” _

_ “What are their plans?” _

_ The questions don’t make sense at first, but as hours blur to days, she puts things together. Steve’s letters have been tracked, somehow, leading these men to her door. For whatever reason, they seem to think that he has shared sensitive information or would compromise his mission to rescue her. None of that is true, of course, so she ends up shredding her throat irreparably as they torture her for answers she does not have. It’s not long after that they realize their attempts to distract Captain Rogers are also moot - either he doesn’t receive the threats or chooses to ignore them. The torment changes then, her handlers switching their focus to someone else that she can hear screaming through the walls, while men in white coats prick and prod her weakened body with goals she doesn’t even try to understand.  _

_ One day that, too, changes. “No need to waste a good study rat, you might as well take her off my hands,” is the last thing she hears, before someone injects her with a sedative, and the world goes dark. _

_ When she awakens again, the room is different, no longer a cell, and they’re giving her meals, treating her injuries, making sure she’s physically fit. The beatings stop completely, but she hears whispers of ‘Skrull’ and ‘containers’ and ‘need a healthy specimen’ - no one would be foolish enough to think that they’re suddenly safe.  _

_ When they do come for her, eventually, her body has recovered, and she fights them every step of the way. Howling, scratching, kicking, biting - she tries it all, yet they drag her to a chair that’s still sticky with someone’s blood and sweat.  _

_ The first wipe leaves her screaming in fury - she knows what they’re doing, and she has no intentions to give in. They take her back to her room, feed her steak, of all things, and pump her full of meds. When she returns to consciousness, she’s already back in the Chair.  _

_ A few more wipes follow that but it’s not until the fourth try that she finishes the session with a string of curses, realizing that it’s actually working, and she cannot remember most of her recent years. The head scientist looks pleased, when the men dressed in black drag her away, which makes her desperate to escape. As soon as she’s alone in her room, she forces herself to throw up the food and most of the pills, takes the i.v. tube, ties it around the door handle, around her neck, gets to her knees, and lets the gravity do the rest. Passing out she  _ **_hopes_ ** _.  _

_ But the morning comes and she’s still alive, once again sitting in the chair.  _

_ Once her screams stop, a no longer familiar man in a white coat asks her all sorts of questions, but she knows only some of the answers. Once the interrogation is complete, he pats her cheek with a smug grin, turns towards a young man standing near a panel and issues an order.  _

_ “Again. I want her wiped completely before we begin Phase 3.” _

_ The surge of electricity sears her brain, and when the bindings are removed, she doesn’t fight the rough hands changing her into a stretchy suit, doesn’t even flinch when multiple catheters are inserted through the inbuilt tubes and electrodes are attached to the back of her head, doesn’t speak up when they lead her towards a sci-fi looking container and pull an oxygen mask over her face. _

_ As the doors close, and cool liquid slowly fills her veins, a strange man grins at her excitedly, his face the last thing she sees.  _

_ “Phase three of project AIVA begins  _ **_now_ ** _.” _


	14. “Do you want to force shutdown?”

Exhaling roughly, Aiva releases Bucky from the embrace (if her fingers stick to his uniform, maintaining contact until the very last second, then that’s not her fault but the texture of the fabric) and tries to twist her lips into a smile. The expression that settles on her face feels unnatural and, judging by the man’s wince, it most likely looks like a grimace. Unfortunately, she can’t help it - nearly the entire team is being deployed, which means that wherever they’re going things are bound to be  _ bad.  _ Bad enough that even Thor Odinson is going with. The fact that Hydra - yes, them again - is still clawing out of the shadows occasionally, no matter how often and thoroughly SHIELD squashes them, does not ease her apprehension as well. Concentrating on not thinking about all the things that can go wrong during such a high-risk operation, Aiva almost doesn’t hear the sound of the door opening. She starts turning to follow Steve’s approach, but she barely catches a glance of his wave before the Soldier tugs her back towards him. One of his hands comes up to the back of her head, pulling her closer to gently place his forehead against hers, while the other slides down from her elbow and squeezes cold fingers. 

They might be on the roof, standing by the Quinjet and surrounded by harsh gusts of wind, but that’s not why her skin erupts in goosebumps. 

“It’s going to be fine,” Bucky assures her calmly, thumb rubbing comforting circles behind her ear. “I’ll make sure Stevie doesn’t do anything  _ too  _ stupid.” He quirks a smile at the emphasis that has Aiva’s own lips twitching.

The footsteps behind her come to an abrupt stop and her amusement breaks through as a wide grin when Steve exclaims ‘Hey!’ with faux offense. Then a new set of hands are tugging at her waist, breaking their connection. Within seconds Aiva ends up back to chest with Steve, a couple of feet between her and Bucky, skating her head at their antics. She can  _ feel _ the pout Steve’s aiming at Bucky, and bites the inside of her cheek to hold back the laughter. The worry is still there, slithering below the surface, but the warmth that seeps into her bones at the contact is pleasant, and she settles in, twisting her head to look at Steve.

“He’s not lying, Steve. I’ve gone through enough reports to notice your inclination for rushing into things.” As she speaks, Steve’s pout transforms into a narrow eyed look, and the arm across her abdomen tightens. Trying to cushion the remark, she quickly adds: “I understand that it’s just your way of doing things, but… I worry.” Placing a placating hand on the forearm that’s across her stomach, Aiva smiles gently. “Just be careful, okay? At least somewhat?”

A sigh. A brief glare aimed at Bucky that suddenly twists into an impish smirk. “Don’t know. Sounds like a lot of work, sweetheart.” He concludes sneakily, nuzzling against Aiva’s hair and whispering the next sentence playfully. “What do I get in return?” 

A fresh batch of gooseflesh erupts where his hot breath lands, and the hand on Steve’s forearm spasms against Aiva’s better judgement. Raising her eyebrows at him and meeting those blue eyes, she mentally distances herself from the flirty undertone. “Rewarding you sounds like something Soldier should handle.” 

Snorting, the man in question picks up his duffel bag and throws the strap over his shoulder. Aiva could list the contents in it without looking, and just barely resists the urge to ask if he packed toothpaste. It’s a habit that she formed during the time as his assistant, and it makes her nostalgic. Now there’s no point in reminding him even if he did forget - Steve will share his. 

“No way. I’m not spoiling this little shit any further.” Bucky groans, hand raking through his hair and winking - Aiva can’t help but feel like they are ganging up on her.

Steve’s chest rumbles with laughter. “Hear that, sweetheart? My safety is in your hands.”

Glancing between the men, Aiva settles into a narrowed-eyed business-like expression and pretends that her blood does not fizzle like sparkling water at their attention. “All right, I suppose it is my duty as an american citizen. What sort of incentive would motivate Captain America to be less reckless?”

Steve pretends to ponder for a moment, while Bucky observes their interaction with a smirk. “How about a kiss?” The cheeky bastard grins at her, prompting an eye roll and a sombre shake of her head. 

“I’m starting to worry about the state of your relationship, Soldier,” she admits, her smile belying the troubled intonation. “Perhaps you should request a couple's counselling session? I’m sure Dr. Varris could recommend someone with exp-,” Aiva cuts off with an undignified gasp-squeak as Steve digs his fingers into her left side. Oh shit. She’s ticklish. 

“Thanks, but we’re fine.” Steve laughs. 

Bucky, meanwhile, shrugs and flashes Aiva a knowing grin that’s slightly more wicked than his boyfriend’s. “What can I say, Stevie’s always been greedy.” There’s no bitterness in his statement, and Aiva’s mind immediately flashes from the dread that her weakness has been discovered to the conversation a week or so back, when Steve mentioned the mysterious woman he had been in love with. “But we can even the scales, I suppose.” Leaning closer, he places a quick peck on top of her nose, and her eyelashes flutter of their own accord. 

“That’s cheating,” Aiva smiles, reaching out with one hand to push him away and her nails click against the metal buckles of his jacket. Bucky barely sways in place. 

“Let’s call it a down payment.” He mutters distractedly.

For a brief moment, Aiva’s stuck between the two men, and it takes everything in her not to close her eyes and revel in how secure it makes her feel. Sadly, the moment’s not meant to last. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees the door to the rooftop open once more, and a group stream onto the rooftop. Bucky languidly steps away with a smirk, but not before someone catches sight of them and yells ‘super sandwich’. A wolf-whistle that’s unquestionably all Clint follows, and Steve mumbles his response is a low whisper (Aiva catches only part of it, the words “Tony”, “cameras” and “timing” giving her only a general idea). The newcomers split into three smaller semicircles, saying their goodbyes are hugging it out, while a particular redhead approaches their huddle.

“All right, lovebirds,” Nat’s expression is stuck somewhere between amusement and a chronic eye roll. “Time to go. You’ll get to pawn all over her once we’re back.” 

At the prompt, Aiva squirms away from Steve, receiving one last squeeze as she goes, despite the cute blush across his cheekbones, and turns to the rest of Avengers. Sam gives her saucy wink with two thumbs up, while Tony fans himself theatrically which makes Pepper laugh into her hand. The rest of them - Thor with the girls, a few high ranking SHIELD operatives she vaguely recognizes, Clint and Coulson - are engaged in conversation, although they nod in greeting when their eyes meet Aiva’s, and she smiles politely in response. With one final kiss on top of her crown and a murmured goodbye, Steve follows Bucky to the Quinjet. A wave and a short two-finger salute later they disappear into the aircraft and just like that Aiva’s shoulders are made of steel once more, the tension at their upcoming mission returning with a vengeance. Glancing at the redhead, she presses her lips together.

“Watch over them, please.” 

‘ _ Because I no longer can’  _ goes unspoken, yet Nat’s face relaxes mildly into a kind little smile, and she gives Aiva’s shoulder a quick squeeze. 

“I’ll do my best.”

  
  


Once the team has left, the ‘civilians’ disperse, each and every one moving with slightly hunched shoulders. Aiva watches the purple and pink hues of the skyline for a moment, composing herself the best she can, and turns to follow. As she heads for the stairs, about to disappear into the gym for the evening, an arm latches around her waist for the second time that day and a soft feminine body that smells vaguely like sweets presses against her side. Glancing to her right, she raises a questioning brow at Darcy. 

“Sup.” The brunette chirps with a smile.

Aiva blinks a couple of times, startled. “Hello, Ms. Lewis. Do you need something?” Sure they’ve spoken, and Darcy’s aware of Aiva’s circumstances, but this kind of familiarity is rather unusual. 

“Nah.” Darcy purses her lips. “Well, kinda. See, us military wives have this ongoing tradition to get wasted when they leave for the  _ really _ big stuff.” Glancing at Jane who’s walking a few steps behind and typing furiously into her phone, she pouts, though Aiva has no idea as to why. “This time, of course, Pepper has an international flight in the morning, and Caleb - that’s Sam’s bae, by the way - is in LA, while the others that tag along occasionally are also busy. It’s just the two of us.”

Nodding to convey understanding she doesn’t feel, Aiva looks curiously at Dr. Foster. Either the woman has been following the conversation all along, or she feels her confusion. 

“I usually don’t drink, and Darcy’s, well...” An affectionate chuckle. 

“The word you’re looking for is ‘awesome’, babe.” Flipping her hair, Darcy pushes her bottom lip out, eyes wide and shimmering blue. “Will you join us? Pleeeeeeease? Pretty please? It will be good for you, I promise.” The longer Aiva stares at the woman in silence, mildly hesitant, the cuter Darcy’s pout becomes, until she might as well be looking into a basket of yipping and begging puppies.

The tiny sniffle breaks her.

“Very well. It’s not like I have much planned.” 

  
  


“Fuck, dude, whaddya mean you’ve never been drunk?” 

Aiva sips at the cosmopolitan, nose scrunching up in distaste. “You seem to have forgotten that I’ve been ‘human’ for less than a month.” Pushing the glass towards Darcy, she shakes her head in disgust. “Getting intoxicated didn’t seem like the healthy thing to do, and frankly, I’m not regretting that decision.” It’s still rather early, so the establishment is half empty and Aiva watches the people milling around curiously, while Darcy considers her words with a pout.

“I don’t get it. I’d have gotten blackout drunk the very first day, especially after coming back like a zombie.” The brunette shudders visibly. “That gave  _ me  _ nightmares, and I wasn’t the one that crawled out of the morgue.”

One corner of Aiva’s lips turns up and she shares an amused look with Dr. Foster. “There was no crawling and luckily no brain consumption followed my resurrection.” Dipping the chip and popping it into her mouth, Aiva sighs - food alone would make leaving her digital existent behind worth it.

“Still. It’s good to relax once in awhile.” Darcy picks up the cosmopolitan and moves it in front of Aiva, as if trying to tempt her with the drink. “C’mon. Let your hair down. Jane will make sure we don’t do anything too embarrassing, won’t you, babe?”

Dr. Foster smiles shrewdly. “I’ll try.” Judging by her expression, she considers Darcy a lost cause already. 

“You’re the best!” Pecking her on the cheek, Darcy turns back towards Aiva, who’s looking at the alcoholic beverage in front of her with scrunched up eyebrows and mildly pursed lips. “Go on, “ She prompts, steepling her fingers with an evil little smirk. “Join the dark side. I promise you won’t regret it.” A pause. “Well, until the next morning, anyway.”

Expelling her breath in one long sigh, Aiva picks up the cosmopolitan, glances at the women sitting on each side, and shrugs. Just before her lips touch the rim, she mutters: “I suppose as long as I don’t over do it, I’ll be fine.” 

  
  


Aiva groans, hisses and whimpers, all in the span of a couple of seconds it takes for her to lift her head up from the pillows. It feels like a tiny tribe is beating the inside of her head in a familiar rhythm, and whatever has died in her mouth has clearly started decomposing days ago. Her eyes open to a mop of brown hair, but when she tries to brush it away, her hand tangles in the horrible mess and she ends up yanking.  _ Hard.  _

“Motherfucker,” Aiva snarls, rolling to her back and moaning in agony when that movement makes her stomach churn. “Never again.” She promises hoarsely, squinting at the ceiling and trying to recall her actions under the influence.

Aiva remembers the bar, where they began their night, and the first couple of hours of talking and laughing. Caleb had joined them after all, and once they were all properly buzzed - even Jane - Darcy suggested ‘ditching the joint for something fun’. Afterwards? She might as well have been wiped by Hydra again. Images and sensations flit through her head, creating a confusing narrative that she’s almost scared to unravel. She could swear she had four glasses at most. How did she end up with no memory and a feeling of dread heavy in stomach? Though on second thought, the last part’s probably just part of the hangover experience. 

Slowly,  _ slowly _ easing her body into a sitting position, Aiva slips her legs over the edge and frowns at the sight of bare legs and the T-shirt she’s wearing. It’s a man’s shirt, unmistakably, and she’s fairly certain that she has seen it before. Apprehension settles in firmly, when her head tilts upwards to take in her surroundings. 

“Why the hell am I here?”

_ [0 1 0 1 1 0 0 1 0 1 1 0 1 1 1 1 0 1 1 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 1 1 0 0 1 0 0 1 1 1 0 0 1 1 0 0 0 0 1 0 1 0] _

Dropping the bag on top of the hotel bed, Bucky groans. Most of them are pretty banged up from the job, and he would prefer going straight home, but something came up, and Fury ordered them to stay the night while he takes care of it. Since they have the green light to reach out to family and friends, Bucky pulls out his personal phone to check the messages, and raises an eyebrow at the 38 new notifications. Most of them are from Dracy, for some reason, but there’s also one from an unknown number, and a frown settles on his face. He glances briefly at the door leading to the hallway, but Steve’s clearly not finished discussing things with Tony in the adjacent room (he can hear the argument through the walls), and there’s no way to ask if Aiva has contacted him. Grinding his teeth in agitation, Bucky unlocks the phone. Why else would Darcy reach out to him if it's not about Aiva? (And why does he even have her number in his contacts?) They’ve been gone for less than 48 hours. What the fuck could have happened in such a short time?

Tense, he opens messages from Darcy first. Scrolls to the very beginning, noting the obscene amount of attachments. Relaxes. It starts with a candid shot of Aiva, and he huffs when the realization that Darcy was simply drunk texting dawns. The first pictures are pretty tame, usually of Aiva’s reactions to various drinks, but as the woman in the photos grows more relaxed and flushed, the captions change. 

_ “Your girl is hella hawt.”  _ Is attached to a photo of Aiva smirking at someone outside the frame, lips wrapped around a straw and one eyebrow arched in a very Natasha-sque manner. 

“ _ Ms. Still-yo-girl _ ” below the photo of Aiva walking down the street, gathering her hair into a ponytail. 

_ “Caleb’s a stand-up guy. I looked.”  _ and a picture of Aiva leaning over the table in a different environment, presumably to pluck the menu from a young man’s hands (he recognizes the blond as Sam’s friend), T-shirt stretching to reveal ample amount of cleavage. Besides Aiva, Jane’s looking at the camera (or Darcy) and smirking into her drink. Bucky grimaces sympathetically at Darcy’s predicament - he’d have looked too. In fact, while he doesn’t zoom in, no one needs to know that he doesn’t close the photo for a minute or so either. 

A few more photos follow and then the captions stop, but the stream of pictures and videos continues. They appear to be in a bar of some sort, and Aiva’s quite obviously tipsy by now, while from the pictures Jane and Caleb seem barely buzzed. He grins at the proof that Aiva’s a complete lightweight and sits on the bed to play the videos, apprehension forgotten. 

The first one is of Darcy dragging Aiva up the stage - a karaoke bar, really? - and grinning like a madwoman, while her victim smiles at the audience cautiously. Darcy says something along the lines of “ones you’re familiar with, don’t worry”, and struts to select the song. He sees her checking with Aiva, receiving a nod. Darcy takes the lead, singing “Man! I Feel Like A Woman”, and Aiva joins reluctantly, her smile growing as the song progresses. 

Bucky opens a few videos or pictures of Aiva singing with Jane, Caleb, a couple of unfamiliar girls. By the sixth video, however, her eyes are bright and she’s almost glowing, foot tapping to the rhythm. Impatiently, Bucky opens the next one and immediately grins - for the first time she’s getting ready to sing alone. For a drunk girl her expression is suspiciously serious as she reads the lyrics in advance, but Caleb pats her shoulder with a wide smile and nudges her towards the stage. She jumps on the platform, swaying in place, but grabs the mic nonetheless, and motions for Darcy to get the song going. 

Her hips sway, this time not from the drink, and he can see the excitement fluttering all over her in the way she licks her lips. The words of the song appear on the screen behind her, Aiva pulls the mic to her lips and smirks at the audience. Confident, powerful and sexy as fuck. 

_ Every time I take a ride _

_ I feel alive with nowhere to go _

_ I'm a king of the road _

_ You're the queen of my throne _

_ Riding high day and night _

_ Satisfied wherever we roam _

_ You're the star of the show _

_ You shimmer like gold _

Right before the chorus starts, Aiva pulls her jacket off, not losing the rhythm or mixing up the words, throws it at Darcy, who gives her two thumbs up even as it lands on her head. There’s no more hesitance - movements fluid, face open and grin wide she sings.

_ Now baby let's ride _

_ We got nothing but time _

_ You get all the reactions _

_ You're the main attraction _

_ It's no surprise _

_ God, I like your style _

_ You're the perfect distraction _

_ You're the main attraction _

She’s so fucking in her element that the alcohol doesn’t even seem to be affecting her anymore. Removing the mic from its stand, she cracks the cable like a whip. The audience is enraptured, and in the background of the video Caleb can be heard saying ‘holy shit’ when she tilts her head up during the second chorus. 

_ Now baby let's ride _

_ Now baby let's ride _

Bucky watches her do a languid sinful twist of her hips, her entire body rippling like syrup, which makes the girls from before whistle loudly and scream in approval. He bites his lip to hold back the groan. Yoga’s clearly good for her. 

_ Ooh I like your style _

_ Yeah _

She winks at the camera - Jane, presumably - shoulders rolling in time with the music. Sweat shines on her brow and collarbones when she struts closer to the lips of the platform, but it doesn’t diminish the brightness of her grin. And her voice. Fuck. Bucky stares at his phone, goosebumps all over his flesh at the raspy tone, the undertone of a feminine growl. There’s roughness to what otherwise would be a sweet purr, but it somehow works, adding to the allure and the intensity. Aiva’s not trying to seduce the audience or show off, that much is clear. She’s simply giving into the melody, confident in her ability to follow it. Unrestrained. Compelling. Breathtaking.

_ Now baby let's ride _

_ We've got nothing but time _

_ You get all the reactions _

_ You're the main attraction _

_ It's no surprise _

_ God, I like your style _

_ You're the perfect distraction _

_ You're the main attraction _

Once the song has finished, he hears people screaming for a repeat, but the video cuts off. Bucky almost presses replay just to hear it again. He’s never seen Aiva so free, so open, and he wants  _ more.  _ The footage probably doesn’t even do her justice. 

The next message is a zoomed in photo again. Aiva’s in the middle of the stage, the lyrics of an Aerosmith song “Don’t wanna miss a thing” frozen behind her. The lights have been dimmed, casting the room in shadow and highlighting the members of the audience who have lifted up the candles from their tables up in the air. Her fingers are pushing brown locks - somehow freed from the ponytail - away from her face, eyes closed and back arched as she sings her heart out. When he realizes that there’s no video, Bucky growls and makes a mental note to ask Darcy. Demand more like, but she doesn’t need to know that in advance. 

The pictures that follow are less interesting now that he has seen Aiva singing, but they do make Bucky shake his head - Aiva’s wrecked by the amount of drinks she’s chugging in the photos alone. When he reaches the final attachment, Bucky feels a twinge of disappointment. Pressing play, he settles more comfortably on the bed. 

The scene has changed once again and when Darcy smiles at the camera, he can see that by now everyone’s properly drunk. 

“ _ You owe me, guys, _ ” Darcy slurs into the camera. “ _ Biiiiiig time. _ ” The sound of the door opening and closing, Jane’s voice (“ _ I’ll wait in the car.” _ ”) fading in the distance.

Darcy’s face disappears as she shifts the phone, and Bucky realizes that they’re already back at the Tower. Yet that’s not why he frowns. No, his eyes bulge out when he recognizes the room as Steve’s and his. Is this some sort of the prank? What are they-

The camera focuses on the bed, where Aiva’s sprawled on her belly, dressed in Bucky’s shirt. Only his shirt as far as he can tell. That has him pressing his lips together and narrowing his eyes at the screen. Her mannerisms are clearly unusual, almost childish, but with the way she looks and the roughness of her voice, even the cute little actions morph into a unique blend of innocence and sensuality.

_ “Very very pretty. And kind. Warm, too.”  _ Aiva grumbles, the words barely recognizable, and Bucky winces in sympathy at the hangover that awaits her.

The camera-woman walks closer, positioning herself to have a good angle of Aiva’s face and hands. The brunette is petting the bedding, Steve’s pillow under her cheek, and frowning as if deep in thought. 

_ “Right,”  _ Darcy sounds amused and only slightly more articulate.  _ “What else do you like about Steve?”  _

Aiva’s frown grows deeper before her face relaxes into a soft grin that has Bucky smiling as well.  _ “Stevie-... Steve has a greeeeat ass.”  _ She admits, and Darcy laughs, while Bucky presses a palm against his mouth, as if trying to hide the grin.  _ “Best gluteus muscles in America, well developed and nibble-worthy.”  _ She nods solemnly, looking straight at Darcy. 

“ _ That’s cause you haven’t seen an Asgardian backside, _ ” Darcy cackles. “ _ Outta the world, if you ask me. And what about Bucky? Do you like Bucky, Aiva? _ ”

“ _ I do, _ ” she smiles innocently, and the man in question curses just how cute that looks.

“ _ Is Bucky pretty, too? _ ”

Aiva nibbles on her lower lips as she considers the question, blinking slowly. “ _ A little. _ ”

“ _ Ouch, dude. You’re breaking Buck’s heart. _ ” Darcy quips, while Bucky just grins. “ _ So if Steve’s a chunk of chocolate you’d like to take a bite of- _ ”

Aiva, too, grins at the camera. “ _ Ice cream! _ ” She laughs, eyes closing. “ _ Bucky’s ice cream. Cold but sweet. _ ” Her gaze grows unfocused and she absentmindedly licks her lips. Bucky’s nostrils flare. Then Aiva turns back to Darcy and smiles warmly. “ _ I like you too, Darce. You’re very nice. _ ”

“ _ Awww, _ ” she coos, stepping closer and either crouching or sitting on the floor. It’s still surreal that they’re in Bucky’s room. Who the hell let them in? “ _ But not as much as you like the boys, I’ll bet? _ ”

Aiva pouts.  _ Pouts.  _ Not in the mild well thought out manner she sometimes does. No. This is the pout that’s definitely not PG-13 rated. Fucking hell, this video is worth more than Steve’s shield. He can’t wait to see the punk’s reaction.

“ _ No, _ ” she sounds guilty as she buries her head in the pillow, hiding from Dracy. 

“ _ It’s okay, _ ” Darcy sniggers. “ _ Aiva, babe, can you look at me for a second? _ ”

The brunette grumbles something incoherent, but lifts her head up. 

“ _ What was that, hot stuff? _ ”

“ _ I miss them. _ ” Aiva moans. “ _ I want them to come home. _ ”

“ _ Awww, i miss them too. Don’t worry, they’ll be back before you know it. _ ”

Aiva nods sadly, eyelids drooping even before she lays back on the pillow, face smushed into the material as if she’s trying to smother herself. “ _ I know they will. They’re mine. _ ”

Darcy laughs. “ _ I thought you were Bucky’s? _ ”

“- _ as...Stevie’s... -t.”  _ It’s nearly impossible to hear her now, and Darcy leans closer. 

“ _ What was that, babe? _ ”

Aiva lifts her head up slightly, eyes unfocused. “ _ I was Steve’s first, _ ” smiling like a druggie, she raises up one finger, then another. “ _ Bucky’s later. _ ” Curls both fingers into a fist, kisses them briefly and presses her hand against her chest. “ _ Now they’re mine. _ ”

In the video, Darcy tries to ask something else, but Aiva just flops back on the pillow, humming some old tune that promptly cuts off and gets replaced by murmurs and soft snores. 

The video ends, leaving Bucky confused as hell. 

He sits there for a few moments, just processing everything, until the doors open and Steve slams the duffle bag and shield to the floor. The video had captivated Bucky to the point where he missed the end of the argument.

“Hey Buck. I’m taking a shower first, okay?” Steve grumbles, which is a typical mood that follows his one-on-one conversations with Tony, and moves to the bathroom, not even glancing at his frozen boyfriend.

Having nothing better to do, Bucky unlocks his phone again, and goes to replay the video, when he remembers the message from a different number. He opens the app and stares. Seems like it’s a day for staring at phones.

_ Unknown [02:18]: Tootgpadte!!!! _

He squints at the word, baffled and slightly intimidated. Assuming that this is from Aiva, he tries to figure out the meaning. Reads the word backwards. Tries to switch the letters like it's an anagram. Frowns. 

The shower shuts off, there’s a sound of brief shuffling and Steve cracks the bathroom door open, popping his head out. “Hey Buck, could you lend me some toothpaste? I forgot to bring mine.”

Bucky glances from Steve to the phone once, twice, and then starts laughing. Seems like he still needs her to look after him, or more precisely them, after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for being a bit late. Frankly, I loved writing this chapter so much that I overdid it and had to rewrite some things. :D Sorry, not sorry.   
> This was super fun, and at the moment it's my favorite chapter without a doubt, though I'm guilty of doing something illogical - the main song Aiva sings would not be in the karaoke selection, since it's not very popular. But I loved the song, it's performed by Jeremy Renner ("Main attraction"), who is... ya know... Hawkeye, so I allowed myself the indulgence.  
> Once again - thank you everyone for reading! ^_^


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